Strangers From A Distant Land
by Nimrodel626
Summary: A car crash sends Sarah, Grace, Maggie, and Christopher into Middle-earth, separating them as it does so. Now they must fight to survive and (attempt to) keep things canon even as Maggie signs up to go with the Fellowship. Great. (If you couldn't see the sarcasm, try harder next time) Cover done by the amazing Kaeli. Part one of the 'Strangers' series. Some chapters rated 'T'.
1. Middle-earth?

**Disclaimer: Middle-earth and Lord of the Rings belong to the genius that is J. R. R. Tolkien.**

* * *

The rain lashed the windshield of the minivan relentlessly, battling with the windshield wipers. Though it was day, the dreary gray light made it seem more like dusk. The driver peered through the down pore, looking for an exit from the freeway. None of this, however, bothered the younger occupants of the car. Twelve-year-old Grace fiddled with her golden braid, light blue eyes deeply immersed in "Many Meetings" the first chapter of the second book of the Fellowship of the Ring. Christopher, the seven-year-old, brushed his black bangs out of his brown eyes as he tried to beat the iPad game Flow, studiously ignoring the endless chatter in the back.

"Did you see Dwalin's face when Legolas stepped on his head? _Priceless_!" fourteen-year-old Maggie enthused to best-friend-and-practically-twin-sister Sarah.

"Yeah! And the Dragon! Smaug was just...just...WOW." Sarah agreed.

As you might guess from the topic of conversation, Grace, Maggie, and Sarah had just come from watching the Desolation of Smaug. Mrs. Rivers, Maggie and Christopher's mother, had picked them up to go to a sleepover at Maggie's. Hence the Christopher.

"Ya know, I think they could have left out the-" but Sarah never got to say what they should have left out, for just at that moment there was a lurch as Mrs. Rivers lost control of the car. It skidded across the road, then flipped over the side.

* * *

Grace POV  
Grace slowly came to, and thought that she hadn't. She was lying on a luxuriously soft mattress, under an eiderdown blanket, nothing like the thin mattresses and scratchy blankets of Childrens' Mercy. As she cautiously opened her eyes, she saw she was in a light-filled chamber, with birds singing outside the window. There was the creak of a door being opened behind her, than quiet footsteps came across the room.

"You're awake?" came a voice, even as Grace turned to see the newcomer.

"Where am I?" Grace asked. She felt like she should be afraid, but she wasn't. It was just something in the air.

"Imladris," the strange woman said, "or as the mortal's name it, Rivendell. I am Miril, and I have been tending to you since they brought you in last night."

The last sentence was lost on poor Grace as she gasped-

"Rivendell! Like the Lord of the Rings Rivendell?"

Miril's face took on a look of confusion. "What is "Lord of the Rings"?" she asked.

"It's a boo- oh, never mind," began Grace. "Could I please speak to the Lord Elrond? And...what year is it?"

"You may," Miril replied. "Indeed, I was bidden to escort you to him when you awoke. As for your second question, it is the year 3018 of the Third Age."

_'And that __would__ make no sense to anyone except Mags or Sarah. Darn.'_ Grace thought.

"Come now," continued Miril, oblivious to the thoughts going through Grace's head. "Let's get you dressed. I assume that you don't want to be wandering the corridors of Imladris wearing naught but a night dress!"

"No," agreed Grace as she got up. Miril helped her into a sky-blue dress with angle sleeves. It was fitted to the waist before it flowed out like a waterfall. Then she took her hand and led her through the maze that was Rivendell.

* * *

Maggie POV  
Maggie opened her eyes. She was in a wheat field with the Sun shining over head. Wait what?! She was supposed to be in a car. Coming back from the Desolation of Smaug premier. NOT in a vaguely familiar wheat field. Wait a moment, Mom had lost control of the car. They had flipped over the side and then, then, she couldn't remember. Oh well. It's not like it matters. Was this Heaven? She looked down at herself. She was still wearing the same blue jeans and three quarter sleeve shirt that she was wearing before the crash. No white nightgown in sight. As she was trying to figure out why, exactly, the wheat field looked familiar, two figures bumped into her. Hard. With vegetables in their arms.

"Hallo there," said one. Was that-?

"Who are you?" said the other. It couldn't be-?

"Maggie Rivers, who are you?"

"I'm Merry Brandybuck," said the second. "And this is my cousin Pippin Took."

"Could you give us a hand?" asked Pippin. "We need to get away before Farmer Maggot catches us, like he did last time."

"Of course," Maggie exclaimed, though inside she was doing the happy dance. _'I'm in Middle-earth! I'm getting into Farmer Maggot's crop with MERRY and PIPPIN! But I thought the Hobbits would be smaller. It doesn't matter! I'm in Middle-earth!'_

After about a minute of running, they burst out onto a small path, bowling over two more Hobbits as they did so. Pippin had landed atop Frodo, Merry Sam, while Maggie had tripped over the fallen vegetables.

When he spoke, Pippin sounded surprised. "Frodo! Merry, Maggie, it's Frodo Baggins. He's my first cousin once removed on his mother's side," he added for Maggie's benefit.

"Hello Frodo, I'm Maggie Rivers," Maggie introduced.

"What are you doing? What is the meaning of this?" Frodo asked as he watched Merry, Pippin, and Maggie gather up the dropped food. Merry shoved some cabbages into Sam's arms.

"You've been into Farmer Maggot's crop!" said Hobbit exclaimed. "Are you mad?

At that moment Maggie heard a Hobbit shouting and dogs barking.

"He's coming! Run!" she yelled, taking off as she did so. She was quickly followed by Frodo, Merry, Pippin, and finally Sam.

"I don't know why he's so upset," panted Pippin. "It's only a couple of carrots!"

"And the cabbages!" Maggie called over her shoulders.

:And those three bags of potato's we lifted last week. And then the mushrooms the week before," Merry added.

"Yes Merry! But my point is, he's clearly over-reacting!"

The fields gave way to woods, bu that made no difference to the angry farmer. They were so busy running away, that they didn't notice they were approaching the drop-down into the road. Maggie slammed to a stop, with Frodo, Merry, and Pippin freezing behind her. Sam didn't notice and ran into them from behind. Down they tumbled, landing on the road in a big pile. It looked like a game of twister where the person on the top had fallen over, taking the rest of the players with him. When they finally untangled themselves, Merry, Pippin, and Sam rushed over to the near-by mushroom patch. Frodo stood up, staring down the road, while Maggie just sat by where she fell, moaning and complaining.

"I think I've broken something, and not just a carrot like Merry. I'm going to be bruised for a week. Why didn't I remember this? I'm-"

Frodo's voice broke through her moanings.

"Get off the road! Quick!"

"Right, Nazgul. Run!" she echoed him.

They jumped over the side of the road, and hid among the roots of a great tree. The oddest feeling washed over Maggie. She felt so cold, and so afraid, like she'd never be happy again.

_'I don't like Nazgul'_ she decided. She went absolutely still, frozen. If she moved and they were found, the quest of the Ring would be over before it even got started, and she and her friends would be trapped in a world without hope. Speaking of her friends, where were they? Completely different topic, why wasn't Merry (or was it Pippin) throwing the bag? While the Nazgul was sniffing for them, time seemed to slow down, it had felt like ten minuets while in reality it had been only one. There came a crash.

The Nazgul whirled around at the sound of the bag falling on the leaves. While it was distracted. The five of them rushed out and down the hill.

"What WAS that?" Merry panted.

'A Nazgul' was on the tip of Maggie's tongue, but she bit it back. I just wouldn't make sense for a strange girl to know what those things were. That'd be a sure-fire way to draw suspicion upon herself.

* * *

Christopher POV

The car tumbled over the side of the road, bumping down the slope into the ravine. As it fell, Grace, Sarah, and Maggie hit their heads, but Christopher's head pillow kept him from being knocked out. So he saw It happen. The front door fell open, and Mom fell out, but the car kept going. Just before it reached the bottom, a golden glow seemed to come out of nowhere, enveloping the children in warmth. When it faded, Christopher found that he was no longer in the car, but in a wood. A soft light was about him, and the leaves of the trees were the greenest green he had ever seen. (rhyme unintentional) He had little time to admire though, and to figure out here he was. There was an arrow at his head. A tall figure stepped forward.

"Who are you?" he asked. Christopher starred at him blankly. First the car was wrecked, then he found himself in a strange wood, and arrow was set to his head, and now the man with pointy ears was speaking gibberish. It was not a good day.

"Do you speak English, sir?" he said, a little annoyed. But it was not wise to anger the person who could kill you at a moment's notice.

The tall person answered him.

"You speak Westron," he observed. "Few in these lands do. But you are of the race of Men. Who are you, and how came you here?"

"Err... I'm Christopher Rivers. Mom crashed the car, there was a light, then I was here. Where is 'here', anyway?"

"You are in the Golden Wood, the realm of the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel. What is this 'car' you speak of?"

"Umm... A car?" Christopher's tone made it obvious that he thought the stranger was daft. "It's a motorized vertical with lots of horse power, capable of great speeds, but easy to crash on wet nights." The only answer that he got was a mystified look.

"Cine, we shall take you to the Lord and Lady." The bow was withdrawn, and Christopher was quickly surrounded by multiple pointy-eared people and marched through the green wood.

* * *

Sarah POV  
Sarah woke up in the most awkward of positions. Her face was smushed against someone's back. As she lifted her head, she could see that whoever was carrying her was walking up a flight of old, worn steps. There was a creak, then she felt her self being lifted up. Instantly she shut her eyes, going limp and pretending to be asleep. She was laid on a bed.

"I know you are awake," came a male voice, somehow familiar. She stiffened and opened her eyes. Then she blinked. Then blinked again.

"You role-playing guys take your game way too seriously. I thought you were actually Aragorn for a moment there. Could I borrow your cell? I need to call my Mom."

'Aragorn' grabbed her shoulders. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

Sarah scrambled to a sitting position and backed against the wall.

"Whoa! No need to get so upset. You're Aragorn. I got that. I'm Sarah Hodgson. I know your name because there's only a whole book series about you, and three movies."

"Books? There are no books about me. And what are 'moov-ies'?" If anything, 'Aragorn' was more on his guard. At that moment, Nob walked in. Sarah's eyes rolled back in her head.

"Oh great, I'm in Middle-earth," was all she was able to get out before collapsing in a dead faint.

* * *

**Note as of 8/30/16: Welcome to my story! I am currently in the process of editing, cleaning up, fixing, and completing it, so things might be a little messy for the moment. I apologize. If you're confused about something, please feel free to PM me or leave a review, and I'll get back to you as soon as life permits. Enjoy!**  
**~Nimrodel**


	2. Reality Sinks In

Grace POV

Miril reached up and knocked three times on an ornate wooden door.

"Enter," said a voice on the other side. Miril motioned for Grace to go forward. She did so.

One exhausting hour of being interrogated by Elrond later, she stumbled out of the study. Finding Miril nowhere in sight, and seeing a door to the outside, she walked towards it. Upon reaching the exit she found a garden. There was a breathtaking view of the valley, and a tinkling of water coming form the distant waterfalls.

Grace spent at least half an hour wandering around, looking at the flowers, and listening to the birds. While following a robin (he looked and behaved exactly like the robin from The Secret Garden), she came to a screen of evergreen trees. (Wow, I'm rhyming a lot lately. _Screen_ of ever_green_. Never mind...) Beyond the trees her newly enhanced hearing could catch the sound of a twanging, like when you pull a piece of yarn tight and have someone flick it with their finger. Then there came the sound of voices.

"Good one, Dan!" said voice #1.

"Thanks, Ro," replied voice #2.

Grace walked quickly along the green wall barring her way. She soon found a stone arch, and the source of the voices.

A dark-haired Elf was standing at the far end of a grassy field. At the bottom of the field, there was a small target set up. To the left, across from Grace, another Elf, identical to the first, was sitting on the ground with his back to a bench. The first one had just finished shooting an arrow into the target. He was reaching for another shaft when the Elf on the bench stopped him with a call.

"Dan! We have company." The second Elf was the owner of voice #1, not that there was much difference.

'Dan' turned toward Grace. "Ah, the mysterious Lady who fell on our hunting party."

"Quite literally, I might add," said the other. He stood up. "I am Ro, and this is my worst half, Dan."

Dan looked indigent, and hit his brother. Ro hit him back, then they laughed. Their laughter was contagious, and Grace soon found herself joining in.

"I'm Grace, daughter of Mark," she introduced, sticking out her hand.

* * *

Maggie POV

The shadows lengthened to evening. All afternoon Maggie had trudged through the wood with her four favorite characters from Lord of the Rings. While walking, Frodo, and especially Sam, had plied her with questions. Who was she? Where did she come from? How come they had never met before? Samwise Gamgee had to be the most suspicious person she had ever met. Eventually she gave out that she was a River from the Northern Downs on her way to visit her mother's sister, Mrs. Maggot. She hadn't met them before, but had _they_ met everyone in the Shire? Thankfully, that satisfied them, though Frodo kept looking at her like she was a tiger read to pounce. He was also grabbing at his breast pocket.

"Obvious much?" she had muttered. Pippin had heard her, but thought she was talking about something else, and agreed with her.

"Anything?" Sam now asked.

"Nothing." Frodo replied.

"What is going on?" groaned pippin.

Merry walked up to Frodo, and looked at him questioningly. "That Black Rider was looking for something, or someone. Frodo?"

Maggie was listening to the conversation, so was thrown off balance and onto her nose when Sam yanked her down. She looked at him indignantly, but he pointed up the hill. There was a Ringwraith crouched in its saddle. Slowly its grotesque steed carried it out of sight.

Frodo looked at the three younger hobbits, Merry Pippin, and Maggie. "I have to leave the Shire," he said. "Sam and I must get to Bree.

"Right. Buckleberry Ferry. Follow me." Merry dashed off through the trees. After a moment's hesitation, the others followed in hot pursuit.

Then everything seemed to happen in an instant. A Black Rider screamed behind them, bursting out of the bushes where they had been moments before.

"This way!" Pippin's voice was shrill with terror as he pelted for the Ferry. "Follow me!"

Sam looped the robe off the post, fumbling several times. Four of the five hobbits were on the raft as it began to float away from the bank. Frodo was running up the pier, a Nazgul hot on his tail.

"Go!" he yelled at his friends. With one last dash and an almighty leap he escaped the Rider and cleared the water, landing in an undignified heap on top of Merry and Sam.

"How far to the nearest crossing?" he asked, as soon as he had got his breath back.

" Brandywine bridge," Merry answered. "Twenty miles."

* * *

Sarah POV

Two people sat in a dark corner of the Prancing Pony. They were swathed in black or dark brown cloaks, though one looked like he? she? it? was swimming in his? her's? it's? Whoever it was, the worthies of Bree wondered how Strider had picked up a companion.

Sarah peered out over the heads of the costumers at the inn. Aragorn, once he had gotten over the whole how-do-you-know-my-secret-name-that-no-one-else-around-here-knows thing, had been quite helpful. Even though she had explained where she came from, and had told him about the Lord of the Rings, he was still tight-lipped about why they were waiting yet another night in Bree before going on to Rivendell, and she didn't confront him about it. He had bought her a long sleeve woolen dress in a dark green, as well as a pair of shoes, and she was borrowing his spare cloak.

A small party of Men got up from their table to get more beers, clearing Sarah and Aragorn's line of sight to the door. It opened, admitting a small group of five hobbits wrapped in cloaks. Sarah sighed, resigning herself to another night in Bree, when one of the hobbits caught her eye. Instead of a cloak, he had a blanket. Upon closer inspection, when said hobbit had thrown back his make-shift hood, she discovered that it was not a he but a she. A very familiar she, with tan skin and long black hair, wearing jeans and a soaked purple shirt.

"Maggie!" Sarah breathed, and jabbed Aragorn in the side with her elbow.

* * *

Christopher POV

Christopher stood nervously on a platform, with Haldir next to him, waiting for the Lord and Lady. Haldir looked down at him reassuringly, remembering when the boy had appeared out of nowhere on the northern borders of the wood.

A light descended the steps and, when it had faded, you could see the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel.

"Welcome, Christopher Rivers," Lord Celeborn greeted him. "You have come from far away."


	3. Lovely Nazgul, And Look, MORE Nazgul

Sarah POV

Sarah jabbed Aragorn in the side with her elbow. He made no move, except to lean his head closer.

"What is it?"

"My best friend, Maggie Rivers, though last I checked, she wasn't a Hobbit."

Aragorn gave a slight nod, then continued to watch the five hobbits, especially Frodo.

Sarah grinned with amusement as Maggie tried her first sip of beer, gagged, and spit it out. Then Merry slid in next to her, setting a tall, frothy mug on the table. Her mind supplied the lines as Pippin and Merry conversed, and Pippin ran off to find his pint. Barliman seemed to stop longer at the table then originally, but then again, there were two mysterious strangers starring at the hobbits.

Pippin's voice seemed to ring through the whole room. "Baggins! Sure I know a Baggins. He's over there, Frodo Baggins. He's my second cousin once removed on his mother's side, and my third cousin twice removed on his father's side, if you follow me."

Aragorn sat strait up. In one swift movement he reached in his boot, pulled out a long knife, and handed it to Sarah.

"Go stand guard outside our room. Let no one in save me and those with me. Now go!"

* * *

Sarah's long legs carried her up the steps two at a time. She set her back to the door, holding her knife outward. Less than a minute later, Aragorn appeared, carrying Frodo.

"Let only the other four pass." he said, before disappearing into the room.

Sarah pressed one ear to the door while trying to look down the passageway with the opposite eye. Snippets of conversation floated through the oak panels.

"-nothing."

"Indeed. I can avoid being seen if I wish, but..." Aragorn's voice faded out for a moment. "-frightened enough," it came again. "I know what-" Sarah didn't get to hear the rest. She was jerked from the entry by a hobbit, probably Sam. He then proceeded to thrust open the door, Merry and Pippin tumbling in after him. Following g at a slower pace, and grinning at the whole scene, was Maggie.

Sarah threw back her hood. "Mags!"

"Sarah? Jimmy Cricket, it's you!" They rushed into a hug. Maggie was the first to break away. "Come on," she said, as she dragged Sarah through the door. They found Aragorn making plans with Frodo.

"-pillows under the covers," he was finishing as they walked in.

"Ara-Strider!" Sarah called as she pulled Maggie over to him.

"This is one of my lost friends, Maggie. Maggie, this is Strider. He's been looking after me since I arrived a week ago."

"Hello, Maggie," Aragorn began, but she interrupted him.

"A week?! But I've only been her since this afternoon!"

Pippins head wagged back and forth between the two friends. "Wait, best friends? Then you _aren't_ a River from the North Downs? No Hobbit's ever been friends with a Big Person."

"I should think that's sort of obvious, Pip," whispered Merry.

"Hobbit?" Sarah laughed. She had entirely forgotten Maggie's new height. "Last I looked, Maggie was small, but not _that_ small..." her voice trailed off as she really took in Maggie's feet and height. "You're a holbytla."

"Yes Sarah," Maggie sounded a bit exasperated, "as Merry said, I should think that's obvious."

"As much as I wish you two could keep talking," Aragorn broke in, "we really must take care of the beds. The nine could be hear at any time."

* * *

Moving swiftly, the Big Folk and the Little Folk moved the packs from the Hobbit's room and placed long pillows down the beds. Then Aragorn ushered them back into his and Sarah's room, where they bedded down for the night. One by one they dropped off to sleep.

* * *

Sarah was awakened by the most blood-chilling scream she had ever heard. Everyone else was sitting up, and Maggie was inching closer to her.

Said Maggie gave her a weak smile, then started humming. "DUN dun DUN dun DUN dun DUN dun, DIN dun DUN dun DUUUUUN!"

Sarah had to smile back when she heard it. The Nazgul theme from the movie. She started humming the Morgal theme back at Mags. "DUN, dun, da-da-dun, DUN, dun, da-da-dun."

"What are you doing?" inquired Sam suspiciously. He still didn't trust either of them, even though they had both explained their story.

Maggie smiled innocently. "Just humming the theme from Lord of the-" Sarah hit her, "-Things," she finished with a scowl at her friend.

Frodo turned to Aragorn. "What are they?"

"They were once Men – great kings of Men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will." He looked out the window at something the others couldn't see, then he turned back. "They are the Nazgul, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you."

With that ominous note, he turned away, leaving the others to fall asleep as best they could.

* * *

Early the next morning, Sarah was shaken into wakefulness by Aragorn.

"Sarah, wake the others. I go to procure a horse for us and a cloak for your friend."

Sarah lay still for a few minutes after he had left, reluctant to get up. Slowly she rose, then bean to sing loudly to the tune of Happy Birthday -

"Good morning to you,  
Good morning to you,  
Good morning good morning,  
Good morning to you.

It's time to get up,  
It's time to get up,  
It's time to it's time to,  
It's time to get up."

"Did you have to?" groaned Maggie, sitting up. Frodo was also awake, but the others were still softly snoring.

"Strider told me to get you guys up," Sarah rejoined, "but I don't think I did a very good job of it." She nodded at the sleeping Hobbits. "They're still in dreamland."

Frodo looked at her balefully. "I'm with Maggie," he said. "Was that song really necessary?"

"Yep!" was the answer. "Hey Mags, let's get 'em with the Water Buffalo"

Maggie gave a wicked grin, and Frodo looked apprehensive. "On the count of three. One...Two...THREE!" Together they began to sing – The Water Buffalo Song.

"Oh, everybody's got a water buffalo,  
Your's is fat but mine is slow,  
Where we get them I don't know  
But everybody's got a water buffalo-oooooo!

Took my buffalo to the store,  
Got his head stuck in the door,  
Spilled some Lima beans on the floor  
Oh everybody's got a water buffalo-oooooo!"

Pippin, Sam, and Merry sat up looking extremely confused around 'your's is fat', and Aragorn came in around "Took my buffalo to the store'.

"Wha-a-a-at is that?" yawned Pippin, when they had finished singing.

"A silly song with Larry," Sarah replied, then looked at Maggie expectantly.

"The part of the show here Larry comes out ans sings a silly song," finished she. They were stared at.

"So Aragorn," said Frodo, after an awkward pause, turning to the addressed. "What is your plan? You clearly have one."

"Follow me," he answered, throwing a cloak at Maggie.

* * *

In the space of a few hours, they had left Bree and the road far behind. Sarah was walking up close to Aragorn, drinking in everything he was telling her about woodcraft and finding your way.

Frodo's voice broke into their soft conversation. "Where are you taking us?"

"Into the wild" was the gruff reply, but Sarah could see a smile on his face, and, as he bent down to inspect some moss, he whispered to her, "The lesson in caution has been well learned."

As they continued on, Sarah could barley catch indistinct murmurings coming from the five Hobbits behind them. Aragorn, it seemed, could hear them quite clearly. Quietly he gave the gist of what he had heard.

"They do not know if they can trust the two Rangers and their odd Hobbit friend. They appear to be referring to you as 'Trotter'." He paused, then said loudly, "To Rivendell, Master Gamgee. To the house of Elrond."

"What does Maggie have to say about all this?" Sarah asked.

"Nothing," was the reply. "She seems to be falling behind and out of earshot."

"Oh."

They continued on in a comfortable silence for a the rest of the day.

* * *

For three days the odd group traveled through the wild. Gradually, the land became snowier, and , much to her chagrin, Maggie had to borrow one of the Hobbit's spare suites.

Whilst Maggie was generally accepted by the Hobbits now, Sarah, as she was a 'Big Person', and in league with the dangerous Strider, was left almost completely alone. Thus she was up front again with Aragorn when they realized that the others weren't following.

Sarah turned around, while Aragorn looked over his shoulder. "Gentlehobbits," he called, "we do not stop until nightfall."

Pippin looked incredulous. "What about breakfast?"

"You've already had it." Aragorn replied, nonplussed.

"We've had one, yes," Pippin answered matter-of-factly. "What about second breakfast?"

Aragorn shook is head and walked on. Sarah stayed for a moment.

"Maggie, you only eat three meals a day. Four, if you count snack."

"I have a Hobbit stomach now."

Sarah copied Aragorn's gesture and followed him into the trees. She found him picking the last few apples hanging from a gnarled branch. He hefted one, (not that there was much to heft) and tossed it over a hedge. He was about to throw the next one when Sarah stopped him.

"May I?"

When Aragorn handed it to her, she lobbed it into the air. A moment later, they heard a loud thunk and a cry of "Pippin!"

"Oops?" half said half asked Sarah.

* * *

That afternoon Sarah found out why you must always bring mosquito repellent when you decide to go adventuring in the Midgewater Marshes. She quite agreed with Merry's statement:

"What do they eat when they can't get Hobbit?"

Finally, about a week out from Bree, they broke through the edge of the Marshes. Weathertop loomed dark above them.

Aragorn looked up at it. "This was the great watchtower of Amon Sul. We shall rest here tonight."

With that, they began plodding toward the ominous hill.


	4. Making Small (Or Not So Small) Changes

Christopher POV

Christopher ducked Rumil's swing.

"Good!" said elf called, "Stay light on your feet!"

It had been three years since The Car Crash. Three years since Christopher had woken up in a strange forest with Haldir's arrow to his head. Haldir had marched him strait to Caras Galadhon, where the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel had explained to him what had happened. Apparently Lady Galadriel had looked into a special mirror that she had and saw the car crash and subsequent arrival. According to her and Lord Celeborn, they had been sent there for a purpose, though what it was is beyond the skill of all but Manwe to foretell. He had been adopted by Rumil and his wife, Silmewen, and lived with them in Caras Galadhon. Oh, and another big surprise? Christopher was an elf, pointy ears and all.

"Ah!" As Christopher was distracted by thoughts of his arrival, Rumil twisted his sword out of his hand.

"You must always pay attention," his foster father lectured.

"Yes, Ada," Christopher replied, resolving to do better the next round.

"Now, let's try again."

This time, Christopher was able to hold his own for a minute, rather than half of one. As Rumil removed his sword from his student's neck, there came the sound of clapping from the side of the green sward.

"Well done, Anessen!" Haldir said, for it was he who had been clapping.

"Thanks, Haldir," Christopher answered.

Haldir now turned to Rumil, "You've worked him long enough, brother. Come, take a rest. You have both earned it."

Ten-year-old Christopher looked hopefully at Rumil. "Please, Ada?" he pleaded.

Rumil gave in. "Very well," he conceded, sheathing his sword. The small group made their way to the trunk of a large mallorn. Both Rumil and Christopher collapsed at its base.

"Here," said Haldir, offering each a tumbler of water. The threesome sat in companionable silence, all busy with his own thoughts.

Christopher was thinking about his new family, Rumil, Orophin, Haldir, and Silmewen. They had taken him in, taught him Sindarin, abet with a Silvan accent, and helped him to adjust to this new world. Rumil had taught him to use a sword, Haldir the bow of the Galadhrim, and Orophin woodcraft. Silmewen had comforted him though the night when he cried for Maggie, Mom, and Dad. The ache had dulled a little, over time, especially when Lord Celeborn had revealed that Maggie and Sarah would pass through Lothlorien in the near future, and that he would see Grace soon after that.

"Rumil! Haldir! Anessen!" a loud shout interrupted Christopher's thoughts. Miluiel, the midwife's apprentice, was rapidly descending from a high talan. "It is Silmewen!"

The two older elves exchanged glances, and then dashed to the ladder, Christopher following hotly on their heels. A feminine cry came from the platform above.

"Push!" ordered another voice, that of Maerwen, the midwife.

Haldir and Christopher stopped on the talan below Rumil's while Rumil and Miluiel went on ahead. Soft voices came from up above, with Silmewen crying out occasionally. Every time that happened Christopher gave a violent jerk.

Haldir put a hand on his shoulder. "Shh, Anessen," he said, "your nanneth will be alright."

"But what if she's not?" argued Christopher, slipping into English in his panic. "What if the baby dies? What if -"

Christopher's list of what-ifs was stopped by a good, healthy baby cry. The ten year old made to leap up the rope in an instant, only to be stopped by his uncle.

"Anessen, wait!" called he.

"I want to see Nanneth and the baby!" Christopher protested.

"Let your nanneth rest a bit before she has visitors. She will most likely need a day or-" he broke off. Rumil was coming down the stairs with a small bundle in his arms.

"Brother, Son," he began, "this is Megildur, my son, your nephew and brother."

* * *

Maggie POV

The group of five hobbits, two rangers, and one pony trudged up the hill of Weathertop, into the deepening dusk. Strider led them to a small hollow in the side of the hill.

He pulled four swords out from his pack and handed them to Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and Merry."These are for you. Keep them close." He told them, then turned to Maggie. "I am sorry that I have none for you," he told her. "I was expecting only four." Strider now looked at the rest of the group. "I am going to have a look around. Stay here. Sarah, come with me."

As she followed Strider, Sarah looked over her shoulder and called back-

"Be careful! Fires might not be such a good idea!"

"Why would Trotter say that?" asked Sam, looking puzzled.

Maggie shrugged, though she was grinning. "Beats me!"

The hobbits talked quietly for a while, and then Frodo lay down to catch a short nap. Maggie noticed that he was already looking more pale and drawn then when she had first met him, in Farmer Maggot's wheat field.

"Oi! Maggie! Could you find us some firewood?" Pippin called to her after getting her attention.

"NO! Didn't you hear what Sarah said?"

"But it's cold," Merry protested, "and I for one want a warm meal."

Maggie opened her mouth to contest him, and then closed it with a snap. She had suddenly remembered what Aragorn had told the hobbits in the book, and what he had done in the movie. "Fine," she declared.

"Yes!" exclaimed Sam, excitedly. "I'll cook."

With that, the small campsite flew into a flurry of activity. Merry took Maggie to find wood, Pippin started the fire, and Sam began to cook.

Soon he was finished. The bacon was perfect, as were the sausages. As Sam was divvying it up, Pippin started slicing tomatoes. When he was finished, they all dug in.

They ate in silence for a while, before Pippin broke it.

"Can I have some more?"

"Okay Pip," Merry answered him, reaching into the pan with a fork. He looked at Sam, who had so far refused any tomatoes. "Want some tomatoes Sam? Great tomatoes."

Sam shook his head.

At that moment Frodo woke up. He sat bolt upright.

"What are you doing?!" he demanded.

"Tomatoes, sausages, and nice crispy bacon," replied Merry.

"We saved some for you, Mr. Frodo," Sam put in, picking up the plate and walking towards the addressed hobbit.

Frodo jumped up, horrified. "Put it out you fools! Put it out!" He ran to stomp out the flames.

Maggie jumped on him.

"Frodo Baggins! They've already seen the fire; it's no use hiding now. Let's use it as a weapon. Besides, you would've hurt your feet."

"Wha-" Frodo was interrupted by a bone chilling screech. The cry of a Nazgul.

Frodo sprang up, shoving Maggie off of him.

"Go!" he cried, pushing her ahead of him. "Go!"

The others followed quickly, and the small group wound their way up the old stairs, worn by two ages of passing feet ascending and descending. The screech came again, louder, closer this time, but no less blood curdling. Spurred on by pure panic, the hobbits reached the summit. They spun around, back to back. Five Nazgul appeared, each framed by a broken arch. Taking slow, ominous steps, they approached their victims. Suddenly, Sam sprang at them.

"Back you devils!" he shouted.

The Nazgul easily deflected his blade, throwing him against a rock. He lay still.

Merry and Pippin grouped in front of Frodo and Maggie. Two more Nazgul thrusted them aside effortlessly, leaving Maggie and Frodo without a protector. Frodo dropped his sword and scrabbled in his pocket for the Ring as they both back away.

Maggie could vaguely see Pippin's and Sam's' terrified faces out of the corner of her eye. Frodo tripped over a stone and fell backwards. The lead Nazgul drew a wicked knife with a sickening sound of metal upon metal. Frodo vanished! Without thinking about what she was doing, Maggie threw herself on top of where he had been. There was a sudden, awful pain in the back of her right shoulder, someone screamed, and her world went black.

* * *

Sarah POV

Sarah and Aragorn were examining the ground closely for tracks. Or rather, Aragorn was, and Sarah was standing looking on in amazement, wondering how on Earth he did it. He seemed to know exactly what a grain of dirt in the wrong place meant. Her attention was suddenly distracted by a hoof print in the soil to their left. She opened her mouth to say something, but the owner of the hoof print beat her to it. An inhuman shriek rent the still night air to shreds. Aragorn whirled around, drawing his sword from its sheath with a _shing_.

"Run!" he shouted at Sarah, who was rooted to the spot with terror. After a second's hesitation, she bolted away from the dark horse and its even darker Rider.

Aragorn quickly forced the Nazgul back, then turned and dashed after Sarah, who had not gone far. He grabbed her hand and made off again, this time in the direction of a small glow on the hillside. She stumbled after him, her dress snagging on bushes as she went.

They soon reached the campsite, where the fire was beginning to burn low.

Aragorn grabbed two sticks; both flaming at their ends. He shoved one into Sarah's hand.

"Use this against the Riders."

They flew up the stairs, just in time to hear a scream of pain.

Aragorn dashed into battle, becoming a whirling firebrand.

Sarah forgot any and all Nazgul and dashed across the courtyard.

"Maggie!" she screamed.

Frodo was visible, though shaken, and was holding a bleeding Maggie in his arms, while Merry, Sam, and Pippin grouped around them protectively.

Sarah pushed past them and lifted her friend in her arms, simultaneously dropping the torch. Frodo picked it up and heaved it at a Nazgul that was sneaking up behind Aragorn.

Merry ran up to him. "Strider! You've got to help her Strider!"

Aragorn came over and knelt by the knife, picking it up and examining it. The blade vanished in his hand. "She's been stabbed by a Morgal blade," he declared grimly. "This is beyond my skill to heal. She needs elvish medicine."

Swiftly, he wrapped the handle in a fold of cloth and stowed it in his bag. Taking Maggie from Sarah, he turned and began striding away.

"Come," he said over his shoulder, "hurry."

As they made after him, Sam noticed a small problem.

"We're six days from Rivendell. She'll never make it!"

Aragorn ignored him and muttered to the moaning girl -

"Hold on Maggie."

* * *

After four days of walking, with very little rest and even less sleep, they came to a clearing with three very ugly stone trolls as decoration. Maggie by this time looked utterly awful. She was pale and sweating, wheezing and gasping horribly.

Sam tried to distract her by pointing out the decor.

"Look, Maggie. It's Mr. Bilbo's trolls, Tom, Burt, and William." He touched her cheek. "Maggie? Strider, she's going cold!"

"Is she going to die?" Pippin sounded terrified.

Aragorn turned to look at him. "She is passing into the shadow world. She will soon become a wraith like them."

"No!" Sarah involuntarily let out a startled cry. This wasn't supposed to happen. This was all supposed to be in a book, or on a TV screen, not happening to her best friend.

There came the screech of a Nazgul. Merry looked up.

"They're close," he warned.

An idea seemed to suddenly occur to Aragorn.

"Sam," he asked, "do you know the Athelas plant?"

"Athelas?"

"Kingsfoil."

"Kingsfoil? But that's a weed!" protested Sam.

"It may help to slow the poison," Aragorn replied. "Hurry!"

Sam dashed off, only pausing to grab a torch. Aragorn followed him.

"Quick! Get a fire going!" Sarah told Frodo, as the other two were with Maggie. She rummaged through the packs piled atop Bill for a water skin and a cooking pot. Though confused, Frodo did as she asked, or rather, as she ordered.

Quickly rigging a crude support, she filled the pot with water and hung it over the flames. At that moment Sam came charging in, a handful of damp leaves clenched in his fist. He stopped and asked very suspiciously-

"What are you doing?"

"Making it so we can use the Athelas more effectively," Sarah answered. She looked more closely at his face. "Do you honestly thing that I'd do something to deliberately hurt Mags?"

Sam had the decency to look embarrassed.

Sarah stuck her finger in the water, the jerked it out again. "Ouch! I'd say it's hot!" She held out her hand for the Athelas. Sam looked loathed to give it up.

"Go on Sam, It's alright," Frodo said, putting a hand on Master Gamgee's shoulder. Sam warily handed over the leaves.

Sarah took them, and then put most of them in her pouch, leaving only a few out. These she crushed and cast into the now boiling water.

"Sam. Could you get me a cloth and a bowl?"

He handed them to her, and she dipped the dish in the Athelas-infused water. She walked rapidly over to Maggie.

Dumping the cloth in the liquid, she rung it over Maggie's forehead, murmuring as she did so.

"Come on Maggie! Come on!"

She turned to Merry and Pippin, who were hovering over her anxiously.

"Can you help me flip her?" she asked.

Pippin moved forward and together they rolled Maggie onto her front.

Sarah gasped when she saw the wound. It was festering badly. What was even worse was knowing what it would eventually do. Hurriedly she laid the rag on the cut, saturating it in the fragrant water. Maggie let out a small scream as it made contact. At that moment a wholesome light filled the clearing. Arwen had come.

Arwen jumped off her horse. Alighting on the ground, she went over to Maggie.

"Maggie," she called softly, "Im Arwen. Telin le thaed. Lasto beth nin. Tolo da nan galad."

"Who is she?" Merry asked softly.

"Maggie!" Arwen's voice was urgent.

The wonderment was clear in Sam's words. "She's an elf."

"She's fading," Arwen whispered anxiously.

Aragorn went to put Athelas on the wound, and then stopped in amazement. "Who did this?" he asked.

"Trotter did it," said Pippin, pointing to her who was kneeling beside Maggie.

"It was well done," Aragorn praised, before turning to Arwen, who had been trying to get his attention.

"She's not going to last," she told him. "We must get her to my father, as well as the one who carries the burden."

"Frodo?"

"Yes. I have been looking for you for two days."

Aragorn picked Maggie up and carried her over to the horse.

"Where are you taking them?" Merry cried in alarm. They ignored him.

"There are six wraiths behind you. Where the other three are, I do not know."

Aragorn lifted Maggie onto Asfaloth, Arwen's horse. He turned to Frodo. "Can you ride?"

"Yes," Frodo answered in the affirmative.

"Good said Aragorn, and lifted him behind Maggie without further ado. "Ride to the Ford of Bruiden. The horse knows the way. When you reach there, tell Lord Elrond to send horses for us. Ride hard, for Maggie."

Frodo nodded, and Aragorn slapped Asfaloth's rump.

Arwen cried to the horse in Sindarin. "Noro lim Asfaloth! Noro lim!"

As they disappeared into the trees, Sam yelled angrily at Aragorn and Arwen.

"What are you doing?! Those wraiths are still out there!"

* * *

Frodo POV

The shouts of his faithful Sam grew fainter as the white elf horse charged through the trees. The girl in Frodo's arms moaned and slumped forward.

Suddenly, as he glanced to the side, he could see another horse through the trees, a black horse. Looking to his other side he perceived with horror that there were three more. The woods ended. He looked back as they galloped over the open space, and saw a terrible sight. All nine Riders arrayed against him, closing in. Now they were almost on top of him! One galloped alongside and reached out a hand, though for the Ring or for Maggie, Frodo could not tell.

Maggie sat up; the most alert Frodo had seen her since the night before Weathertop. She seemed to see them as he himself had seen them, when wearing the Ring.

Without warning, they were in the Bruiden, the Loudwater on the borders of Rivendell. The horse slowed to a trot, a walk, and finally, a stop. They turned.

There, strung out on the water's edge, were the nine Nazgul.

Frodo sat up and, with a great effort, drew his sword, clutching Maggie to his chest.

"Go back!" he tried to shout, but it came out as a whisper.

Maggie moaned.

The harsh, terrible laughter of the Riders came across the river, grating on his ears.

"The Ring! The girl!" they cried with deadly voices and the leader urged his steed into the water.

Frodo summoned the last of his strength. "No!" he cried bravely. "By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor Maggie!"

The leader raised his sword. It flickered like a pale flame. Frodo's felt like lead in his hand. He soon dropped it. The rest of the Nazgul drover their horses into the river, then It happened. The rapids swelled, and some took on the shape of horses leaping and prancing.

Frodo regained control of his senses, and pulled Asfaloth away from the water. Maggie fell off, and Frodo hastily dismounted after her. She seemed to become paler, translucent, even.

"No!" shouted Frodo. "Maggie…hold on. Help's coming!"

A noise was heard in the distance, and Frodo looked up. Running down the path was an elf with long golden hair. He appeared to be shouting in Sindarin. Frodo frowned in bewilderment when he heard what he was saying.

"My poor horse. Wait till I get my hands on Arwen. Tie me up and take Asfaloth indeed!"


	5. The Lull Before The Storm

Grace POV

_(A dark-haired Elf was standing at the far end of a grassy field. At the bottom of the field, there was a small target set up. To the left, across from Grace, another Elf, identical to the first, was sitting on the ground with his back to a bench. The first one had just finished shooting an arrow into the target. He was reaching for another shaft when the Elf on the bench stopped him with a call._

_"Dan! We have company." The second Elf was the owner of voice #1, not that there was much difference._

_'Dan' turned toward Grace. "Ah, the mysterious Lady who fell on our hunting party."_

_"Quite literally, I might add," said the other. He stood up. "I am Ro, and this is my worst half, Dan."_

_Dan looked indigent, and hit his brother. Ro hit him back, then they laughed. Their laughter was contagious, and Grace soon found herself joining in._

_"I'm Grace, daughter of Mark," she introduced, sticking out her hand.)_

"Nice to meet you, Grace, daughter of Mark," the two elves said in unison.

"Would you care to join us?" asked Dan, gesturing at the target behind him.

"She might not know how to shoot, Dan," Ro pointed out.

"I had a bow when I was younger, actually," Grace put in, "and anyways, how hard can it be?"

She should not have said that. It turned out that it could be very hard. First off, the brothers 'forgot' to move the target closer, her sleeves got tangled in the string of the light bow they had given her, and they had provided he with arrows meant for their bows, not hers. They seemed very disappointed when she asked after arm guards. Needless to say, her first shot went wide of the mark. Very wide.

The brothers laughed. Grace glared.

"Aright, you've had your joke," she said angrily, her quick temper coming into play. "Now quit fooling around and help me!"

With easy grins, they began to teach her to use the bow, this time seriously. When the bell rang for lunch, she was hitting the target two out of five times on a regular basis.

"We'll practice again tomorrow, if nothing comes up," Dan and Ro promised, "but after lunch we must show you the rest of Imladris."

They led her up a flight of stairs, and then stopped. On a delicately carved chair at the top of the landing was sprawled a golden-haired elf, bound and gagged.

"Lord Glorfindel!" Ro called, absolutely delighted, "what in Middle-earth happened to you?"

The elf, Glorfindel, glared. It was then that Grace recognized him.

"Oh! The Glorfindel that goes after Strider and the hobbits!"

Dan and Ro turned to her now, their faces deadly serious, a very different side then the one that Grace had seen to that point. The grumbling Glorfindel went silent.

"How do you know of Aragorn and the Hobbits?" Dan asked urgently. "Do you know more than that?"

Grace looked up at the two tall eves, almost twice her height, both facing her and backed up slightly.

"There was, or will be, or is, I don't know, there's this book," she explained, "where I come from. It tells the story of, um, the Thing, from when Frodo first gets it to when he reaches here. It's called the Fellowship of the, uh, Thing."

Dan and Ro looked no less forbidding. Grace tried again. "Look guys, I'm on your side. I talked to Lord Elrond, he believes me."

The brothers visibly relaxed.

"Oh, that's alright then," Ro said, and then quickly returned to his former state of cheerfulness, offering her his arm. Dan walked to her right, and, not to be out done by his brother, offered his arm as well. Grace took them both. As they began to walk down the landing, there came a muffled yelp of protest from behind them,

"Oh! Lord Glorfindel!" Grace dropped both arms and ran back to the bound elf. She fell to her knees and began trying to pick the knot open. They were elvish, better than a boy scout's, so it was a futile exercise.

"Oi! You two! Come and give me a hand!"

They ignored her, referring to lean on each other's shoulders and laugh.

Abandoning her attempts to untie his hands, Grace easily removed the gag.

"Who did this to you?" She wondered, as she returned to the ropes.

"Arwen," the elf growled, wiggling his hands to try and get them out of their bonds.

Dan took pity on them, and came over, drawing a knife from his side. It sliced through the fibers like butter.

"Right," Glorfindel said, standing up standing up and stretching, "I'm off to find your father." With that, he strode down the corridor, taking quick, impatient steps.

The brother's looked for all the world like naughty elflings who had been caught with a cookie they were not supposed to have.

"I am NOT looking forward to that conversation," Ro shuddered. With a shrug, he spun around and led the way to lunch. Dan grabbed Grace's hand and they followed him. Before long they arrived in the hall.

Dan dragged Grace with him over to a bench near the far end of the wall.

"Grace," Ro, who had gotten there only moments before, began. "This is Gildor Inglorion of the house of Finrod, Galdor of the Havens, and Lindir the Minstrel and his wife, Bellethiel."

"Figwit!" Grace blurted, looking at Lindir.

"I beg your pardon?" he said, nonplussed.

"Oh, um," Grace felt her face heat up. "Figwit's a, um, friend of my, um, family, where I'm from," she invented. "You just, ah, remind me of him.

Lindir accepted this, and nodded. "Odd name, Figwit," he commented, then he continued "So this is the Ithilwen?"

"Yes," confirmed Dan. Grace's question of "Ithilwen?" went unanswered, so she turned attention to the food.

What Dan and Ro had termed a 'lunch' was in reality a feast, such as she'd only seen at Christmas and Thanksgiving. It was an hour later that people began to get up. Grace was stuffed. Bellethiel had been pileing her plate with food almost non-stop. She was nibbling at a scone when Miril had suddenly appeared by her side. The motherly elf led her back to her room and made her lie down on the bed.

"You fell from quite a ways away," Miril told her, "and you are still not fully recovered. You need your rest." She brooked no argument, and practically shoved the girl into the furniture. Indeed, when Miril had left, Grace fell asleep strait away.

* * *

She woke up refreshed, around three o'clock, and got up immediately. Softly opening the door, she stepped into the hall - and promptly got lost.

Wandering around the city, she came to a tunnel of leaves, and then to a fenced in area on the edge of the river. There she found Dan and Ro.

Dan was on a beautiful brown horse and Ro on a white. Standing by the gate was Lindir, holding it open.

"There you are!" called Ro, when he had caught sight of her. "Miril wouldn't tell us where she had hidden you."

Lindir grinned. "She knows them too well."

Dan road out the gate and reached a hand down to Grace. She took it, and he pulled her up onto his horse behind him.

"Hold on tight," he instructed her, and then immediately galloped off to the water's edge and from there down the length of the river, Ro following closely behind.

They soon reached a place where the water was much lower than the rest of its body.

"That is the Ford of Bruinen," Ro said, pointing to it. They had begun to climb the winding path back up to Rivendell, when Grace turned back to look over her shoulder. She had noticed lately that she could see further than she used. Looking behind her she saw a speck of gray on top of white coming over the plain at a tremendous pace.

"What's that?" she asked while pointing at it.

Dan frowned as he shaded his eyes, "I do not know."

Ro wheeled his horse and galloped across the ford. Dan, with Grace clinging to him, followed suit.

The dot was much further away then Grace had thought. It took them an hour, each riding headlong at each other, to reach the stranger.

He was an old, bearded man, wearing long grey robes and a pointed blue hat. In his hand there was a long, gnarled, wooden staff.

"_Gandalf!"_ was the first thought that leaped into Grace's mind, but she was soon correct by Ro.

"Mithrandir!" cried he, springing from his horse when they had stopped. "Where have you been, mellon-nin? We feared that you were lost! Gildor said that you had broken tryst with the Halfling Frodo."

Mithrandir's face was grave. "About," he replied. "Where is the Lord Elrond? I must speak to him urgently. Has Frodo come?"

"No," answered Dan. "Arwen rode out early this morning to search for him."

Mithrandir nodded, and then caught sight of Grace. "Who is this?" he asked.

"This is Ithilwen," Ro introduced.

Grace sighed. "It's Grace, though everyone seems to have taken to calling me Ithilwen."

"You fell on us from a great height on our evening hunting trip," Dan pointed out.

"And that has something to do with it because-?"

Mithrandir laughed long and merrily. "With your permission, my dear, I shall do the same," he said to her. He turned back to Dan and Ro. "We must make hast back to Imladris. The Nine are abroad again."

With that, he urged his beautiful white horse on again, and the brothers, with Grace in tow, did the same.

When they returned to Rivendell, Mithrandir continued cantering right up the steps. Dan hopped off his horse and handed the reins to Grace.

"Can you ride?" he asked her.

"Yes," answered she. It was true. She and Sarah had spent many long, happy hours at her grandpa's ranch in Montana.

"Good!" exclaimed Ro, jumping off his horse as well, and throwing his reins to Grace as well. "Ride along the path until you come to a waterfall. Take the right-hand trail; it should take you under the waterfall. Follow that path, and you will eventually come to the stables. At least one person should be there, tell them that Ro and Dan sent you. We have to go. Namarie!" With a wave of his hand he dashed after his brother, who was already gone.

"Oh well," Grace sighed. She kicked the horse into motion, and then noticed with some surprise that she was ridding bare-back. With Dan in front of her, she hadn't yet realized the horse was wearing no saddle. Shrugging, she thought _'how hard can it be?_' then internally winced. The last time she said that- well, you know how well things turned out.

She followed Ro's instructions to the letter, and before she knew it, she was at the waterfall. She pulled on the reins, and the hoses stopped obediently. Looking up at the pounding water, she shuddered. Waterfalls were absolutely beautiful - when viewed from a distance. When she was very small, no more than four years old, she had gone on vacation with her family to the beach. She had twisted her ankle on the smooth, slippery shells and gone under. It had taken her parents two minutes to get her out of there, though by that time she had been unconscious. Ever since, Grace had stayed far away from all but the shallowest of waters. It had proved quite the problem before she was old enough for showers.

Now, as she sat looking at the water in trepidation, all of her old fears came back to her. She became aware of her heart thumping painfully in her chest. After a moment's indecision, she turned the horses and took the other branch of the path.

"Nope, not that way," she muttered as did so. She wandered aimlessly for a bit, her mind occupied with thoughts of her sister and friends. A voice startled her out of her reverie.

"Hullo my dear," it said. "Are you lost?" she turned in the direction the voice had come from, and found a small, white haired man with harry feet sitting on a bench next to a pot of tea and several cups. 'Hobbit', her ever-helpful and utterly useless in moments like this mind supplied.

As Grace turned to look at him the horses stopped, arrested for a moment by the sound of his voice.  
"Wha, who?" was her intelligent response.

"You must be Ithilwen," he smiled warmly at her, a fatherly sort of smile. "I'm Bilbo Baggins."

"Bilbo Baggins!" cried Grace. "The one who went on the journey with the dwarves?!"

"You've heard of me!" Bilbo was delighted. "Yes, that is me, though you or someone very much like you had a part in it as well. Perhaps a Grandmother?"

"Err..." Grace wasn't too sure what to say to that. "Perhaps," she finally decided on.

"Come! Sit down and have a cup of tea, and I shall tell you of how it all began."

Grace gratefully slid off of Dan's horse, and tethered it and Ro's to a near-by tree. She joined Bilbo on a bench and he poured her a cup of the steaming liquid. He then began his tale.

"In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit," he started.

As the old hobbit told his tale, the sun began to sink lower and lower in the sky. It was beginning to get dark when Grace recalled the two patient, four-legged animals waiting for her to take them back to the stables.

"The horses!" Grace cried, springing up sometime around 'and I decided to take the Arkenstone to Bard and the Elvenking'.

"Oh dear," said Bilbo. "I entirely forgot that you were lost! Allow me to escort you to your destination."

"Thank you," Grace answered, leading Ro's horse over to the bench, "if it won't be too much of a bother for you. My friends asked me to put their horses up while they attended to some urgent business," she paused, "as long as it doesn't involve going near any waterfalls."

"Nope!" Bilbo's voice was cheerful. He waited patiently until Grace had scrambled up onto her horse. "It's this way." He led the way, stopping at times to point out various sights.

"That is where the company and I had a fire, how many years ago was it? And that is where they say Arwen and the Dunadan met, and," well, you get the picture.

At last they reached the low building that was the stables.

"I will wait for you out here," Bilbo told her, settling himself down on a low bench. "You go on in."

Grace rode into the dark interior. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she could just make out a tall man exiting one of the stalls.

"Mae Govannan!" he greeted her. "Well met!"

Grace gave a small wave. "Hi."

"Can I help you?" the man asked courteously.

"Um, yeah, I think so," Grace replied, uncertain. "I was told to tell someone here at the stables that Ro and Dan sent me with their horses."

The man chuckled. "Those twins will be the death of me and all of Imladris." He shook his head.

"Wait, they're twins?" Grace had thought that they were brothers who just happened to look a lot like each other.

"Yes, they are twins, you could not tell?" he reached up. "Here, let me help you off."

Grace grasped the man's shoulders and he swung her down. She looked down at her dress ruefully.

"My skirt is a mess. Reminded me not to go riding astride a horse again with skirts on."

He laughed. "I am Halbarad," he said by way on an introduction.

"I'm Grace," she curtsied, then stuck out her hand. To her complete and utter surprise Halbarad lifted it up to his lips and brushed her knuckles with his lips. Grace turned bright red, very grateful for the dark of the interior.

"A pleasure to meet you," he said, bowing.

Just then Bilbo's voice came through the open door.

"Ithilwen! It's supper time!"

"I'll be there in a sec'!" she called back. She turned to Halbarad "I'd better go. It was nice meeting you!"

"You as well," he replied, and then began to lead the horses away.

Grace ran to the door, where Bilbo was waiting impatiently for her.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting Mr. Baggins," she apologized.

"It was no hardship, my dear Ithilwen," he assured her. "But," and here he held up a finger, "that does not mean that I wish to wait longer!" he took her hand, and Grace was lead once again to the Hall, though this time by and old man the height of her sister's best friend's little brother. Life was profoundly weird at times.

They soon reached the hall. Though she tried, Grace could not locate the elven twins. Instead, Bilbo led her over to some friends of his. They turned out to be Lindir, Bellethiel, and Gildor. He seemed delighted to find that they already knew each other

"I met Gildor while walking in the woods of the Shire when I was a lad!" he told her. "And Lindir and I have composed some wonderful songs together. He was the first elf to greet us the first time that I came to Rivendell, you know."

Grace smiled and nodded, then once again turned her attention to the food.

When dinner was over, Bilbo practically dragged Grace to a large, dark, fire-lit hall. The Hall of Fire. Soon there were many elves laughing, singing, talking, and dancing. Grace sank into a chair at the edge and watched, overwhelmed by it all. Suddenly, she became aware of two tall presences flanking her.

"Greetings, milady," said the one on the right.

"We are terribly sorry about leaving you with our horses," continued the other one.

"We just had a rather urgent matter that needed attending to," the first one explained.

"That's fine, Grace told them."I ran into Mr. Baggins on the way there, and he helped me find the rest of the way."

"Wonderful!" exclaimed both together, and then they seized both of Grace's arms and carried her off to some important looking men (or elves). She began struggling.

"Dan! Ro! Put me down this instant! I was perfectly fine where I was, thank you very much. Put me down!"

They finally deposited her in front of a tall (although that goes for any of his kind), disapproving elf.

"Erestor!" Ro called. "We would like you to meet Ithilwen, also known as Grace, daughter of Mark!"

Said girl was regaining her balance by grabbing Dan's shoulder. She glared at the brothers. "If you ever even think about doing that again I will personally-" her rant was interrupted. Erestor, who had so far been content to simply glare at Grace, now began to scold her soundly.

"How dare you, you impudent elfling!" he exclaimed, outraged. "Do you not know who these two are?" Grace stared up at him mystified, but Erestor took no notice. "These are the sons of Lord Elrond, the Lord Elladan and the Lord Elrohir. After all that Lord Elrond has done for you-"

Grace was slowly growing redder and redder, while the twins were staring at Erestor with identical annoyed looks. Identical extremely annoyed looks.

"Erestor," Ro began, his voice stiff and controlled. "We purposely did not tell Grace who we were. We wished to get to know her as a friend, not by virtue of our status. Come on, Ithilwen." He turned on his heel and strode out of the hall.

Dan swept Grace up bridle style; shot Erestor a glare, and then followed his brother out of the hall.

Presently, they came to an open balcony overlooking a garden. Dan sat Grace down gently on a bench, and then went to stand next to his brother at the edge of the railing. Grace starred at their back for a while, darkly silhouetted against the moonlight.

After a bit, Dan broke the silence and turned to Grace.

"We are really sorry about that. Erestor means well, but sometimes, he takes it too far."

Grace looked up at them, her face beet red. Ro had now turned to join his brother. "I had no idea," she mumbled, mortified, looking down at her lap.

Dan and Ro came forward, and then sat down next to her, one on each side.

"Nor did we want you to," they told her.

Ro grabbed her hands. "Ithilwen," he said, "It is just like I told Erestor. We wanted to make friends with someone who had no idea who we are."

"Yeah, added Dan, grinning."And don't even think about calling us 'Lord Elladan' or 'Lord Elrohir'. It is just Dan and Ro. Anything else would be just plain awkward now."

"Come on," invited Ro, standing up and offering his hand, "let us return to the Hall."

Grace did not remember much of the rest of the night. Song mingled with song, melody with melody, verse with verse. One song only stood out in her mind, the last she heard before falling asleep in a corner. It was Gildor's voice singing it.

"Snow-white! Snow-white!  
O Lady clear!  
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!  
O Light to us that wander here  
Amid the world of woven trees!

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel  
Silivren penna miriel  
o menel aglor elenath!  
Na-chaered palan-diriel  
o galadhremmin ennorath,  
Fanuilos, le linnathon  
nef aear, si nef aearon!"

Her sleepy brain could not make head or tail of the last part, and she soon fell asleep.

* * *

Grace woke to the sound of birds chirping, again.

"What is it with me and birds?" she wondered. She looked down at herself. She distinctly remembered falling asleep in the Hall of Fire without Elladan's (Dan's!) blue cloak over her. She got up slowly, discovering painfully that sleeping on a hard surface is not a good idea, if you are not used to it.

"Never again," she muttered to herself under her breath as she fastened the clasp of the cloak under her chin.

Grace strolled out, taking in the smells and sounds of Rivendell in the early morning. There was not another person in sight. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the fresh, cool air. She hugged the cloak closer. Despite the world's beauty, it was late October, and therefore quite chilly.

After walking for quite some while, looking for signs of life other than that of the birds and an occasional squirrel, Grace found herself at the edge of the Last Homely House, overlooking the ford that she had crossed yesterday with Dan and Ro, then again when retuning with Mithrandir-who-looked-like-Gandalf-but-was-not-he. Something caught her eye, and as she looked closer she could see two riders on a single white horse, with nine dark riders on dark horses arrayed against them, gaining on them!

Grace let out a cry, not waiting to see more. She turned and dashed back into Rivendell. She pounded on the first door that she came to. It was quickly opened by Lord Glorfindel.

"Ithilwen!" he exclaimed. "What in Arda is the matter?"

"Frodo!" Grace panted. "Nazgul! The Ford!"

Glorfindel's face instantly turned sober. "Go straight to the end of the corridor, then take a left. Elrond should be in his study. Go quickly!"

Grace nodded, and then dashed down the carpeted hall. She burst into the study to find Mithrandir and Lord Elrond talking in low tones. She repeated the message she had given Glorfindel.

They sprang up, both of their faces alive with concern.

"Where?" asked Mithrandir, urgency evident in his voice.

"The Ford of Bruinen!"

Grace barely had time to scramble out of the way before Mithrandir and Lord Elrond dashed through. She followed them, hot on their heels. They came to the spot where Grace had first seen the ten horses and their eleven riders, then the elf and man descended a small flight of steps that Grace had missed before. When they came to the end, the two in front quickly drew away from the girl, as she was already exhausted.

She turned the corner, going at more of a jog than a run, just in time to see Lord Glorfindel murmuring to a horse, Mithrandir pointing his staff at a raging river, and Frodo and Lord Elrond bent over-

"Maggie?!"

"Lasto beth nin. Tolo dan nan galad." Lord Elrond passed his hand over Maggie's brow. The Elf Lord's inner light shone forth as he recalled Sarah's best friend. Grace rushed over.

"Maggie! Please don't be dead! Please don't be dead!"


	6. Healing

(Sarah's POV)

"Get down!" Merry jumped on top of Sarah, bowling her to the ground, just as a dark horse sailed over them, right where her head had been moments before, bringing with it a feeling of dread and despair.

"Frodo!" Sam screamed, struggling under Pippin, who had him pinned down.

"Thanks," Sarah told Merry, brushing herself off and helping the hobbit off of the ground.

Arwen looked over at the four. "We must go, Estel," she said in low, urgent tones, though Sarah and Merry caught every word. "It is dangerous to remain, and it is almost light. We should reach Imladris by night fall tomorrow.

Sarah groaned audibly. Another two whole days of walking! Her pessimistic attitude turned out to be a rather accurate prediction. It was walking, roaming, hiking, more walking, and strolling, with very few breaks for meals and the other necessities of life, which shall not be mentioned here.

Finally, finally, in the distance they could catch the sparkling ribbon of water that lay across their path. The shadows of evening were long before them, Anor at their backs.

A random thought occurred to Sarah.

"_If we are really in Middle-earth, Arda, then the sun and the morn are ships with Maiar on them. That is too cool!"_ Her thought stream was interrupted by Pippin, who had just caught sight of Rivendell.

"What is that?" he asked, pointing.

Arwen slowed her steps, turning to smile at him. "That, Master Perian, is my father's house, Imladris, or as it is more commonly known among men, Rivendell." Arwen abruptly turned green. She leaned over and said something to Aragorn in Sindarin.

Aragorn laughed out loud. "You brought it upon yourself," he told her.

"Do not remind me," she growled. This only served to make Aragorn laugh harder.

Their four charges exchanged puzzled looks, Sarah just as mystified as the rest of them.

* * *

The stars had come out above them by the time they finally reached the water's edge. The Fords of Bruinen.

The water splashed happily over its stony bed, giving no indication that two nights ago it had raged an angry battle with the Dark Tower's chief servants. It was about knee high on Aragorn and Arwen, thigh-high on Sarah, and waist high on Merry, Pippin, and Sam. The water about their exhausted feet as they made their way across was cooling and welcome. As they climbed the steep, narrow path, they could see an old grey figure at the top. The hobbits and Aragorn rushed him.

"Gandalf!" they cried.

"My old friends," Gandalf greeted them, smiling gently. He nodded at Arwen, and then his gaze fell upon Sarah.

"Who is this?" he asked.

Sarah opened her mouth to reply, but was arrested by the sight of a furious elf descending the steps.

"Arwen. Peredhil," the elf ground out in a tightly controlled voice.

Arwen let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like "meep."

Gandalf turned his attention from Sarah to the elf. "Ah! Lord Glorfindel," he began, "Now may not be the best time…" his voice trailed off. The blond elf was clearly paying no heed to his words.

Sarah slowly inched away from Arwen and towards Gandalf and the hobbits.

Glorfindel glared.

Arwen gulped.

Gandalf looked between the two, and then sighed. "Come along my friends," he called to the two humans and four hobbits. Sarah, Pippin, Sam, and Merry obeyed, but Aragorn opted to stay behind and provide Arwen with some much-needed moral support.

As soon as they were out of ear-shot of the two elves, Sam looked up at Gandalf anxiously.

"Mr. Gandalf, where's my master?"

"He should be with Miss Rivers, in her room. He has hardly left her side."

Sarah ran up alongside the wizard. "Maggie. Is Maggie alright?"

Said wizard looked at her gravely, and then quickened his pace.

"She is alive," was all that he would say.

They soon came to a wooden door that Gandalf tapped lightly on three times, then pushed open. Two of the three people within rose to greet him. The first was Frodo. The second one was so shockingly familiar that it took Sarah's breath away.

"Mithrandir!" Grace called, at the same time as Frodo's "Gandalf!"

Sarah couldn't wait a moment longer. She ran at her sister and tackled her, drawing her into a prolonged hug.

"Grace," she murmured into her sister's hair.

"Sarah," Grace sobbed into her chest.

Gandalf smiled at them. "Is this your lost sister, Ithilwen?" he asked Grace.

"Yes, Mithrandir," she replied. "This is Sarah."

Their reunion was cut short by Merry. He and Pippin had slipped over to Maggie's bed side while everyone was occupied by the Hodgsons.

"Will she be alright?" the young hobbit asked. Gandalf sighed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

"We do not know, though we shall always hope. We do believe that she is past the worst of it now, but there is always room for error."

Sarah walked over to the bed and her best friend, Grace clinging like a burr to her side. Maggie was pale against the white sheets. Her normally tan skin was almost white. Gandalf came over to them.

"She was fighting," he told them, "though she could not continue to do so for much longer. Lord Elrond suspected that there was still a shard of the knife in the wound, working its way inwards. He located it and removed it this afternoon. She should wake up some time tonight or tomorrow."

Sarah took Maggie's hand gently in her own. At that moment the door opened to reveal two identical elves. Grace looked up and nodded at them.

"Dan, Ro," she greeted quietly. "This is my sister Sarah."

'Dan' and 'Ro', who Sarah immediately guessed to be Elladan and Elrohir, gave Grace extremely skeptical looks.

"If you say so," said the one on the left. Sarah was not sure which he was.

"Anyway, Ithilwen," continued the one on the right, "Miril has bullied us into coming to carry you off to bed and making you sleep.

"But Maggie, and Sarah," Grace gestured to her friend and to her sister.

The fist, the one on the left, smiled at her. "Miril and Bellethiel have conspired, and they are preparing rooms for the hobbits."

Grace glared. "That still does not answer my question."

"Grace." The one on the right (Sarah was pretty sure that it was Elrohir) came and sat down on the bed next to her. "Ada says that she will most likely wake up tomorrow at the earliest." He put his arm around her in a hug. "The room next to yours, the one that has a door between the two, has been made ready for Aragorn's companion, as soon as they were spotted approaching. And, when Maggie wakes up, you will be the first to know, after Ada, of course."

Grace smiled at him. "Thanks," she said. Elrohir stood up and lead the sleepy girl out of the room. Sarah followed them, with Elladan bringing up the rear of their little procession.

* * *

Sarah woke to the sound of swords hitting each other. Puzzled, she got out of bed and when to the large window. The Sun was already high in the sky, and below the two elves from last night, Elladan and Elrohir, were crossing blades with Aragorn, one of the twins against his brother and foster brother

Sarah pulled her head back inside, and turned to look at her room. On top of the chest at the foot of her bed was a dark green gown. She blinked in surprise, and then started looking for the dress that Aragorn had given her. It was not anything fancy, but it was the first thing she had ever owned in Middle-earth, plus Aragorn had given it to her, so she was kind of attached to it. (Okay, not 'kind of', but 'really')

Since she was in a night gown, and the green dress was the only other thing available to wear, Sarah slipped it on. As she walked over to the table in search of a hair brush (which she found), she discovered a note lying on the polished wood. It was written in her sister's almost unintelligible chicken scratch, that gave everyone how tried to read it a headache after ten seconds, excepting their father. (She had gotten it from him.) Basically it could have been written in Hebrew. Fifteen minutes later, Sarah had come up with a readable version on a separate scrap of paper. (She had never been so glad for all the practice she had writing in pen and ink)

"_Dear Sarah_" it said.

"_I have gone to Maggie. You looked like you desperately needed the sleep, so I let you be. Maggie's room is straight down the corridor; take a right, then the first left. I will leave the door open._

_Your sister,_

_Grace H_."

Armed with her translated-from-Grace-Runes note, Sarah braved the halls of Imladris. She quickly reached the open door. Inside, she heard a delighted burst of laughter.

* * *

(Maggie's POV)

Slowly, slowly the darkness receded, as did the chill. The air was filled with the sound of distant waterfalls, mingled with the music of many birds.

"Where am I?" Maggie asked the world in general, not really expecting an answer. To her surprise, she got one, and from the last person she expected.

"In the House of Elrond, and it is ten o'clock in the morning. It is the morning of October the twenty-fourth, if you want to know."

Maggie sat up, and then blinked. And blinked. Then blinked. And blinked again.

"Grace?" she asked, her voice incredulous.

"Maggie," Grace replied, with a cheerful grin.

"How…how?" Maggie stuttered.

"I'm not entirely sure," admitted Grace. "I think Mithrandir has an idea, though"

Maggie nodded. "That would make sense," she began, but was cut off by Grace jumping her.

"I am so glad that you are okay!" she cried, her voice muffled by Maggie's pillow.

Maggie laughed and shoved her off. "Frodo got better, didn't he? Then why shouldn't I?"

"But you are not a Hobbit!" Grace protested.

"I am in this world, apparently," returned Maggie. "Just like you are an elf, or elfling as the case may be."

"You are an elf?!"

Both Grace and Maggie's heads whipped around to look at the new comer.

"Sarah!" they both exclaimed, before Grace's mind caught up with what Maggie had said.

"Wait…I am an elf?"

"Of course you are," Maggie rolled her eyes. "You mean you haven't noticed? I noticed it first thing."

Grace's eyes grew wide, and she slowly reached her hand up to her ears.

After a long moment, she brought them down again. She took a deep breath, and then smiled.

"I guess that explains the eye sight and hearing"

Maggie opened her mouth to pursue the matter further, when Sarah caught her eye and shook her head. Maggie quickly changed what she had been about to say.

"So I'm guessing that we are in-" she began, but was interrupted by the arrival of the Great Mariner's son.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Maggie Rivers," said Lord Elrond.

Grace immediately jumped up and curtsied.

"Lord Elrond." She seemed flustered.

"Grace." He smiled at her, and then turned to Maggie. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Maggie suddenly felt very shy. "Very well, thank you." She replied.

Lord Elrond nodded. "I expected that you would be. Grace, would you show your sister and friend around Imladris?" It was phrased as a question, but all three know that it was not a request. Not that it mattered, Maggie was quite ready to get out of bed, and Grace seemed just as eager to show her and Sarah the place that two weeks ago had only existed within the pages of a book, and on the TV screen, of course.

"Sure thing," Grace smiled; then got up and walked to the chest at the foot of the bed.

Lord Elrond (The eye brows were just as cool in person) slipped out quietly, unoticeced by the Hodgson sisters.

"What are you doing?" Maggie asked then, sitting up farther and leaning over so that she could see more easily.

"Seeing if there is anything your size," Sarah told her, continuing to fold the blankets that Grace tossed on the floor in her haste.

Grace was muttering to herself, but the best friends could hear her as clear as anything.

'Where is it? I could have sworn I saw Miril altering a dress yesterday, where did she put it? Come on, YES!"

Grace triumphantly held up a purple skirt, neatly tied together with a blouse and a bodice. (It was the bodice's string doing the tying)

Sarah rolled her eyes, the stood up. She walked over to the side of the bed, and pulled back the covers.

"Up!" she ordered in a no-nonsense voice.

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Maggie grumbled jokingly as she complied with her best friend's wishes.

Grace's ears visibly perked up. It was one advantage of having extra-long, pointy ears.

"Madam Pomfrey? Do you know that most people put her as either a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor? I read this really good story where she was best friends with Professor Minerva McGonagall, but I think she is more of a Hufflepuff. She is ver-"

Sarah and Maggie exchanged long suffering looks, then spoke in unison.

"Grace."

"What?" said girl broke off her ramblings. The two teenagers looked at her. "Oh."

Maggie nodded approvingly. "That's better. Now, am I going to get dressed or not?"

The next couple of minutes were a flurry of activity. Soon, where Maggie had stood was a young hobbit woman. Whoever this Miril was, she had clearly consulted Gandalf and Frodo. The dress, skirt, and bodice all looked like they had come straight out to the Hobbiton/Shire/Birthday Party dressing room from Peter Jacksons' The Fellowship of the Ring.

Maggie stared at herself in the mirror. "Wow." She could have spent longer, then the over-excited twelve year old that was Grace seized both her and Sarah's hands and dragged them from the room.

* * *

When they reached the gardens, Grace ran on ahead, leaving Sarah and Maggie alone for the first time since Grace had gone to the restroom at the movie theater.

"Penny for your thoughts," Maggie told her pensive friend.

Sarah gave a small laugh. "It's just so weird. One minute we are normal kids, or as normal as we can be, the next we are scattered all over Middle-earth, I am threatened within an inch of my life by Aragorn before he decides to take me under his wing, you are turned into a hobbit before getting stabbed by a Nazgul, my little sister becomes an immortal elf, and Christopher is nowhere to be found. Not to mention that the Council of Elrond is tomorrow. I guess I'm just a little over-whelmed."

Maggie gave her a hug, and then winced, rubbing her shoulder. "It will be alright, Sarah. They win in the end, remember."

"I know," Sarah answered, casting a worried look a Grace, "but not everyone survived."


	7. Plot Twist!

(Sarah POV)

Sarah looked around. She was seated between Aragorn and another tall, stern looking Dunadan. Across from her, at the other end of the semi circle, Maggie sat between Frodo and Gandalf. It had been quite the surprise when they had been invited to the council. Sarah had figured that sense they were girls, if they wanted to listen, they would have had to hid out with Merry, Pippin, and Sam. Then Gandalf had found them, and invited her and Maggie, Maggie because she had been stabbed by the wraith and Sarah because of what she had told Aragorn in Bree. They had considered Grace, but had decided against her on account of her age. Sarah and Maggie had tried to sit together, but Gandalf had told them to sit here they did for the sake of the rest of the council.

Over the past half hour the patio had gradually filled up. Now they were only waiting for Lord Elrond and his sons, who had insisted on the girls calling them Dan and Ro.

Three more minutes of restless waiting later, they came in and sat down. Frodo looked very relived. (Maggie had been conducting an experiment to pass the time: How Many Times Can You Poke a Hobbit and Blame it on Gandalf before He Gets Annoyed)

After surveying the council, checking to make sure that all were present, Lord Elrond rose. Sarah held her breath, waiting for the words which she had memorized through countless viewings of the Fellowship of the Ring, Extended Edition.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle -earth stands on the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this Fate - this one doom." Lord Elrond looked around the faces turned towards him, his eye brows almost meeting above his nose, so deep was his frown. His eyes fell last on Frodo, who looked like he would very much like to be somewhere else.

"Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

Frodo looked at Gandalf, and then slowly got up, He walked to the stone column in front of Lord Elrond, and carefully set the Ring in the exact center. He walked back and sank into his chair with a sigh. Maggie gave his arm an encouraging squeeze. Quiet whispers came from where the men of Gondor where seated. Suddenly, one sprang up.

"_Boromir!"_ thought Sarah.

The man began pacing back and forth. "In a dream," he told them, "I saw the Eastern sky grow dark, but in the west a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: 'Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's bane is found.' Isildur's bane." He repeated the last two words in a whisper.

As if in a trance, Boromir reached a trembling hand towards the Ring. He was snapped out of it by Lord Elrond.

"Boromir!" he shouted, at the same time as Gandalf began to recite the chilling words. Words that had no place in the beauty of Imladris.

"Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!"

A shadow seemed to pass over the sun, and all the elves present stopped their ears with a look of pain on their faces. Lord Elrond looked extraordinarily angry.

"Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris," he said, giving Gandalf the full benefit of what Maggie termed 'The Evil Eyebrow Glare'.

Boromir sat down in his seat, shocked.

Gandalf glared right back at Lord Elrond. "I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West!" Here he switched his glare from Lord Elrond to Boromir. "The Ring is altogether evil!"

Boromir was nothing if not persistent. He was already shaking his head and getting to his feet. "But it is a gift!" he insisted. "A gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use this Ring?" he began pacing back and forth. "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of evil at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe!" Despite herself, Sarah could not help feel chills go up and down her spine. It was quickly quashed a second later. "Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy, let us use it against him!"

Aragorn shook his head. "You cannot wild it! None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

Boromir gave him a doubtful look. "And what," he asked. "Would a ranger know of this matter?"

A blond elf, most likely Legolas, leapt to his feet. "This is no mere Ranger," he deafened hotly. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

Now open disbelief was clear on Boromir's face as he turned towards Aragorn. "Aragorn? This…is Isildur's heir?"

Legolas opened his mouth to confirm, but Sarah beat him to it."

Even though she know it was going to happen, and even though Boromir was her second favorite character of all time, she did not take kindly to someone insulting her friends, especially when said friend was her first favorite character of all time.

She jumped up as well, and almost tripped on the hem of her dress. As soon as she had recovered her balance, she began to recite a well loved poem.

"All that is gold does not glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost;  
The old that is strong does not wither,  
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,  
A light from the shadows shall spring;  
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,  
The crownless again shall be king."

Aragorn reached up and grabbed Sarah's arm, pulling her down into her seat. He then looked up and caught Legolas's eye.

"Havo dad, Legolas," he told him. "Sit down, Legolas."

Boromir looked scornfully at Sarah and Aragorn. "Gondor has no king." He sat down heavily, switching his gaze to the elf. "Gondor needs no king."

After a last glance at Boromir, Gandalf attempted to bring the conversation back to the topic at hand. "Aragorn is right. We cannot use it."

"You have only one choice," Lord Elrond said grimly. "The Ring must be destroyed."

There was silence for a minute, as everyone looked at their neighbor. Then a gruff dwarf, undoubtedly Gimli, sprang out of his seat.

"What are we waiting for?" he demanded, rushing the Ring, his axe at the ready.

The dwarf struck at the Ring. There was a flash of light, and he was flung backwards, shards of what had once been his axe flying in every which direction.

Lord Elrond looked like he could barely keep from laughing.

'The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Gloin by any craft that we here posses." The elf now reverted to his former state: deadly seriousness. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." He glared sternly around the council. "One of you must do this."

Boromir visibly restrained himself from rolling his eyes. He leaned forward in his chair, but for once he did not get up. Sarah mouthed his first sentence with him, and across the patio she could see Maggie doing the same. "One does not simply walk into Mordor," he said. Aragorn gave Sarah an odd look as she muffled snickers. Boromir continued. "Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is an evil there that does not sleep. The great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren waste land, riddled with fire, ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

Legolas had no qualms about standing. He leapt to his feet. "Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" demanded he. That elf really must not like Boromir. "The Ring must be destroyed.

It was then Gimli's turn to spring up. (He had recovered from trying to destroy the One Ring. He poor axe, however…) "And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?!"

Now Boromir rose. "And if we fail, what then?!" he asked. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!" Gimli's comment had all the elves up in arms. His kinsmen rose to support him.

Suddenly, it seemed as if the whole council was on its' feet yelling. When the bodies shifted, Sarah could see Maggie's face. She frowned. The only other time that Maggie had that look was when she was having an argument with herself. Then Maggie suddenly stood up and gave a loud yell.

"Shut up!" she shouted. Everyone spun around to stare at her. "Thank you," she continued in a quieter tone. "I will take the Ring to Mordor." One of the unnamed men sat down heavily. He spoke as the rest of the council followed his lead. "You are a woman," he pointed out, "And a young one at that." He somehow managed to make the words kind, but not patronizing.

"I know," Maggie told him, "but I am also a Hobbit. And as some of you have noticed, hobbits are a bit more resilient to its power than men. I do not know why, but we are. Also, I am a girl, and in my experience we tend to be a bit more stubborn than men in some ways." Maggie looked around at every ones unconvinced faces. "Look. I'm not from around here. I know that most of you are not, but I can guaranty you that I am from farther than that. I am still not sure how I got here. But that doesn't matter. In my world, where I am from, we have a book that tells the entire history of Middle-earth. I know what the Ring is, what it does, and how it does it, along with multiple pieces of useless information, like Drúedain folk tales. I also know what it does to Frodo, and I do not want that to happen to him. Also, I haven't touched the Ring before now, where as Frodo has had it for years, and used it twice. I'm not saying that he is untrustworthy, he is very trustworthy, it's just that the Ring has much less of a hold over me then it does over him at this point."

Frodo looked at her in wonder and not a little relief.

"I will come with you and help," he promised, his voice clearly daring someone to say no to either of them.

Sarah stared at her friend. This was a side of Maggie that she had seen only once before, a couple of years ago. She hopped up and walked quickly to her friend's side. "Some kind of friend I'd be, if I let you go off into danger all by yourself, with only another hobbit for company." She bent down to hiss in Maggie's ear. "What the heck are you thinking?!"

Gandalf rose from his seat and joined the mall group, putting a hand on Maggie's shoulder. I will help you bear this burden, Maggie Rivers," he told her, "so long as it is yours to bear." He went to sand behind Maggie.

Aragorn then came over and pledged himself and Anduril. "If by my life or death I can protect you, I will. You have my sword."

Legolas rose from his seat and stood next to Sarah. "And you have my bow."

Gimli came next. "And my axe!" He and Legolas glared daggers at one another.

Boromir came towards them slowly. He smiled a little at Maggie. "You carry the fates of us all, little one," he told her. "If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done."

There was a pause. "Wait for it…wait for it," Sarah muttered under her breath. "There!" The bushes behind Frodo, Maggie and Gandalf's chairs rustled and parted.

"Heh!" shouted Sam. "Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me!"

This time Lord Elrond made no attempted to hide his amusement. "No indeed," he said, "it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not."

Sam blushed. Both Sarah and Maggie looked towards the pillars. Right on time two more hobbits emerged, shouting as they ran. Lord Elrond whipped around, no linger smiling.

"Wait! We're coming to!" they crashed into the almost formed Fellowship and then stood flanking Maggie, arms crossed.

Lord Elrond opened his mouth to protest, but Merry beat him to it. "You would have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us."

"Yeah!" Pippin agreed. "Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest…thing."

Merry leaned behind Maggie in order to see Pippin better. "Well that rules you out, Pip."

Eleven companions," said Lord Elrond, looking them up and down. "So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!"

Pippin grinned. "Great! Where are we going?" As everyone tuned to stare at him, Sarah face palmed.

"We are so doomed," she groaned.


	8. Over Hill and Under Tree

(Grace POV)

"Oh, misty eye of the mountain below  
Keep careful watch of my brothers' souls  
And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke  
Keep watching over Durin's sons"

Grace sang as she waited for her sister and Maggie. She was still ticked off at them Not Maggie as much but deffinatl Sarah.

If this is to end in fire  
Then we should all burn together  
Watch the flames climb high into the night

Calling out father oh  
Stand by and we will  
Watch the flames burn auburn on  
The mountain side

Grace thought back to when Sarah had told her what had happened during the Council of Elrond.

(_"Grace!" Sarah came running around the corner._

_"__Sarah! What happened?"_

_"__Err... That's the thing. You might want to sit down." Sarah led Grace to a nearby bench. As soon as she was seated, Grace glared at her._

_"__Alright. Spill."_

_"__Maggie has volunteered to take the Ring."_

_Grace was suddenly very glad that she had sat down. "But I though Frodo was the Ringbearer."_

_"__I know. And, um, Grace? Please don't be mad at me."_

_Grace narrowed her eyes. "What did you do?"_

_"__I'm going with her, and you're staying here."_

_"__You're abandoning me?"_

_'__No! Grace, look. Nobody dies, except Boromir. We will be alright. You're just too-"_

_"__Don't you dare tell me that I am too young Sarah Minerva Hodgson! You are only a _year_ older than me. I am not _too young!")

They had made up, but Grace was still a little cool towards Sarah. She understood why now, and all the tales about the large bodies of water along their path helped, but it still did not mean that she was happy about it.

"Desolation comes upon the sky  
Now I see fire  
Inside the mountain  
I see fire  
Burning the trees  
And I see fire  
Hollowing souls  
I see fire  
Blood in the breeze  
And I hope that you remember me"

"Grace!" Maggie had come out of the restroom and given her a hug. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," Grace told her.

Maggie shouldered her pack and walked over to where Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Frodo were standing.

A minute later, Sarah emerged, looking rather green. Grace had to fight herself so not to run to her older sister and bear hug her.

"Bye, Grace.' Sarah told her sadly, and Grace lost the battle. She launched herself at Sarah. They only parted when Aragorn emerged from somewhere and collected the older girl.

"Sarah. It is time."

Sarah nodded, then gave Grace one last squeeze. "I will miss you, little sister," she told her, giving her a kiss on the forehead. "I'll see you in Gondor." She quickly joined her companions. "I'm ready." She said.

Once they were all there, Lord Elrond looked at them.

"The Ringbearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On you who travel with her, no oath, nor bond is laid on you to go further than you will. Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the Blessings of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you."

Mithrandir (Who Grace had finally found out was Gandalf, the elves just called him by the name that Dan and Ro had introduced him by, it meant Gray Pilgrim) stepped to the side, gesturing widely with his arm.

"The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer"

Maggie took a deep breath, and then stepped out of Rivendell, disappearing as soon as she took a left. One by one the rest of the Fellowship of the Ring followed her.

Grace felt an arm slip around her shoulder; she looked up and saw Dan standing next to her. She leaned into him as she watched Aragorn's foot slip around the gate. Then she turned and ran to her room, not wanting any one to see her cry.

* * *

(Maggie POV)

Maggie was wondering once again what on earth had possessed her to take the Ring. It had not done much yet, just innocently sit there on its chain around her neck, but it was horrifying knowing what it was and what it did. Maggie was beginning to think that she much preferred Middle-earth when it lived between the pages of mass produced paperback copies of the Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion.

The first week or two had been incredibly awkward, especially when she and Sarah had wanted to change, answer the call, or bathe in the small streams that they had crossed. Blankets had turned out to be extraordinarily useful in those situations. She shook her head to clear it of those unwanted thoughts. As she did so, she looked up. Gandalf was adjusting his blue wizard's hat as he walked between two boulders. At that moment, Sarah nudged her in the back.

"Look," her friend breathed. Maggie nodded, and then started humming.

"Duuun, duuun, dun dun duuun. Dun dun duun, dun dun duun, dun duun dun, dun, duun, duuun, dun dun duun."

Sarah joined her. "Dun dun duun, duun duun duuun, dun, dun, duuuuuuun!" As they sang the last note, Sarah passed though the arch.

* * *

A few days later, they came to a rather large pile of rocks.

"This is the land once called Hollin," Gandalf informed them. "There is a wholesome air to this place. We shall rest here for a day."

The hobbits and Sarah let out a cheer. Sam immediately started a fire for a hot meal.

Maggie watched Boromir teach Frodo, Merry, and Pippin how to use their short swords, Legolas practice his aim, and Strider show Sarah different ways to hold her long knife, and realized that she, the _Ringbearer_, had no weapon.

"_That will have to be rectified,_" she thought to herself, and then began to dig around in her pack.

"Yes!" she exclaimed a few minutes of searching later. Her hand closed around some strips of leather that she was not sure why she had packed. Picking them up, she walked over to Sam.

"Hey Sam!" she called. "Can I borrow a small sharp knife?"

"Certainly," Sam answered, shuffling around in his over loaded bag for said piece of equipment.

"Here you are, miss."

"Thanks Sam."

Maggie laid the strips out and cut two thin long ones pieces and one short thick one. Using the knife, she punched two holes in each end of the smaller piece. Picking up a small, round rock that fit neatly in the palm of her hand, she started working the small piece of leather around it, shaping it into a shallow cup. It was as she was doing this that Sarah came up.

"What are you doing?" the thirteen year old asked.

"I'm making a sling, like we used to do when we were younger, remember?"

Sarah chuckled. "Of course I do. Remember how we used to terrify Becky-the-cat with them? I remember she wouldn't come near me for years afterwards."

Maggie nodded. "Weren't you with Strider?" she asked.

"Yeah, I was, but he went to go break up the fight between the other hobbits and Boromir – look!"

Maggie looked, and saw Strider buried under a pile of hobbits. She laughed.

They sat in silence for a minute, during which Maggie attached the two thongs and finished the pouch. Sam looked up.

"What is that?" he asked, pointing to a small black patch in the sky, moving towards them. The wind, Maggie noticed, was at their backs.

Gimli let out a breath, heavy with smoke. "Nothing," he replied, waving his pipe around vaguely in the air. "It is just a whisp of cloud."

Boromir extracted himself from the hobbit pile with some difficulty. He narrowed his eyes. "I is moving fast," he pointed out, worried, "and against the wind."

Legolas suddenly realized what it was. "Crebain from Dunland!" he shouted.

Everyone flew into a flurry of activity. Sam kicked out the fire, the other hobbits and Gimli gathered up the rest of the bags, packages and paraphernalia, and Sarah, Gandalf, Legolas, Aragorn, and Boromir ran around gathering up everything the others had missed, and shooing everyone into a hiding spot.

As it was, they barely got themselves and everything else hidden in time, before a huge flock of cawing crow mutants that could somehow communicate with Saruman were upon them. The birds made two sweeps of the small hillock before they sped back the way that they had come, south and east, to the White Wizard.

Legolas peeked out, watching with his far-seeing eyes until the birds were out of even his sight. "You can come out, now," he called.

Everyone squeezed themselves out of impossibly small crevices, from under bushes, and, in Pippin's case, out of a small pit in the ground that he had found.

"Spies of Saruman!" Gandalf exclaimed, once every one had brushed themselves off. "The passage south is being watched. We must take the Pass of Caradhras.

"Burr!" shivered Merry, who seemed to have the best grasp of all the Middle-earthian hobbits of what that meant.

* * *

(Sarah Point of view)

It was freezing. Bitter. Icy. Chilly. Frosty. Glacial. Wintery. Subzero. You get the idea. Sarah was cold. There were no warm, down, water proof coats in Middle-earth. All they had were cloth cloaks. She was wearing all the layers that she had, with Boromir's spare fur coat on top, and she was still cold. She glared at Maggie. Her currently not-best friend was walking barefoot, and was not even shivering. When asked, all that she would say was:

"I'm a hobbit. And anyways, I've always liked the cold."

Sarah did not get it. She had always been one of those people who always had freezing hands, even on the fourth of July.

"Ahh!"

"Oi! Watch it!"

"Frodo! Maggie!"

Sarah's attention was drawn to further up hill. (She was only in front of, well, nobody. Yep, she was the furthest behind. And not because she was doing rear guard) The ridiculous hobbit that was Frodo Baggins had fallen over, tumbling downhill and taking Maggie with him. They were being helped up and brushed off by Aragorn.

Instead of reaching for the Ring like Frodo did in the movie, Maggie stared straight at Boromir. To both her and Sarah's surprise, after the first glance behind him, which everyone took, he continued on like nothing was the matter. Now Sarah saw Maggie's hand go to her neck, then start. As everybody continued climbing, she dropped back to speak to Sarah.

"That was odd," she said quietly, so as not to draw attention. "The Ring stayed on my neck. Didn't it drop off of Frodo's, when it happened to him?"

"That is what happened when _Frodo_ was the Ringbearer," Sarah said after a pause. (She had been turning it over in her mind) "Something had to change, besides the obvious of you having the Ring. Not everything can stay the same. Speaking of that, how are you holding up?"

"As well as I can. I can feel it growing, Sarah. The Fellowship did not say that Frodo started feeling it until after Moria. Or at least, I don't think that it did. Do you think that that also has changed? That I'm more susceptible to the Ring than I thought?"

Sarah gave her friend a hug through her many layers of clothing. "I think that you are doing just fine, Maggie. You are certainly doing it much better than I ever could. And I don't think that you are less tough than Frodo. Remember Bree? You were there; you saw how he was turning it over and over in his hands. And in the movie, you can actually hear it whisper to him. That reminds me. Why on earth did you take it in the first place? I know what you explained to the council, but I don't think that that is all there is to it."

"You are right," Maggie told her. "It is not all. Do you remember when Granddad died? How I wanted to find the killer, and bring an end to all Bad Guys, forever? That is partly why I like books like Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter and Narnia so much. They always win. They always beat the Bad Guys. I couldn't do anything as a nine year old, in our world, but now we are stuck here, and I _can_ do something. I know that probably, at the end, I will not be able to do it without Frodo, or Gollum, or Sam, but I will have born it, and saved Frodo a lot of pain and suffering. He can live in the Shire without having to take a forever vacation."

"But you can't stay. Maggie, you are only fourteen. Don't you want to be able to go back to _our_ world?" Sarah protested.

"I do, I really do," Maggie assured her. "But we are not going to come out of this unchanged, so I might as well be more changed than I would have been. I honestly think that it will be different, though. I am not from here; _we_ are not from here, so I do not think that the objects from here will have the same effect on us as they do on people who live in Arda. Anyways, going back to Earth, to America, might be for me like going to Valinor was for Frodo, Bilbo, and Sam. And Sarah?"

"Mm?"

"I promise to avoid getting stung by Shelob at all costs, excepting the lives of Frodo and Sam."

Sarah laughed. "But what about me? Surly you do not think that I would allow you to go off to Mordor all on your lonesome?"

"That is why I am planning on taking Frodo and Sam, as they would have gone if we had not intervened. I have a feeling that you will stick with Aragorn, though. You look at him like a father or an older brother, don't you?" Maggie looked at her friend knowingly.

Sarah blushed. "So what if I do? I think I understand, though. Thank you for telling me, Maggie."

"Anytime. Is it starting to snow?"

It was indeed starting to snow. At first it was a few small flakes floating gently down, which Sarah and Maggie had demonstrated to Frodo, Pippin, Sam, Legolas, Merry, and Gimli how to catch on their tongues, (Gimli and Legolas turned it into a competition. Those two turned everything into a competition) but it gradually became heavier, with larger flakes. They were walking on a ledge around the side of the mountain when it turned into a full out blizzard. The older men, and elf, were all looking for someone to blame.

Legolas had had great fun showing off how he could walk on snow, and was now using it to an even greater advantage: listening for the cause of the unnatural snowstorm. After a minute of intense staring into the gloom, he called back to Gandalf.

"There is a fell voice on the air."

That seemed to confirm a fear of Gandalf's. "It is Saruman!"

"He is trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn yelled, a hobbit under each arm. "Gandalf, we must turn back!"

"No!" That was one stubborn Wizard. Gandalf struggled to stand up a little from his bent over position. He raised his staff, trying to sooth the mountain back into its former serene state. "Losto Caradhras, sedho, hodo, nuitho I 'ruith!"

Boromir put his two cents in rather loudly, as it was the only way to be heard. "We must get off the mountain! Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!"

"The Gape of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn pointed out the main flaw in this plan.

"If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it," Gimli suggested. "Let us go through the Mines of Moria."

Gandalf closed his eyes, or at least, Sarah thought he did. It was hard to tell through all the snow. "Let the Ringbearer decide," he said resignedly.

"We- " Boromir began, but Maggie cut him off.

"The mines. Definitely. We will all die with cold if we continue trying this particular path."

Gandalf nodded once. "So be it." Middle-earthians seemed to be rather fond of that phrase.


	9. Of Wargs and Dwarf-Gates

Sarah POV

They finally made it down the mountain, taking advantage of the strong shoulders of Aragorn and Boromir to help them dig their way out. As Maggie said, "Men, they make the best natural shovels."

After stumbling down the mountainside, they made camp for the night in the shadow of a small hill. There were thousands of stars over head, and a bird gave a sleepy chirrup in a nearby tree. Then the still night air was rent by a loud howl.

They all looked up, and Aragorn sprang to his feet. "It is wolf voices! The Wargs have come west of the Mountains!"

Boromir jumped up beside him, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "How far is Moria?" he asked.

"There was a door south-west of Caradhras when I was last here, fifteen miles as the crow flies, and maybe twenty as the wolf runs." It was Gandalf who answered him, his voice grim.

"Then let us start at first light tomorrow, if it is possible," suggested Boromir. "The wolf that one hears is worse than the orc that one fears, or so we say in Gondor," he added.

"True," Aragorn agreed, "But where the warg howls, there also the orc prowls."

"I'm so glad that I read the book," Sarah muttered to Maggie. "Otherwise I would be scared out of my wits."

The Company climbed to the top of the hill. It was ringed with old, gnarled trees and broken, jagged boulders, like some grotesque parody of a monk's tonsured head.

Using some of the branches of the trees they built a large fire, no longer trusting to the dark to keep them safe. They set a guard, though none of them could even consider sleep. At last, despite herself, Sarah nodded into an uneasy, restless sleep.

It was broken by a shuddering howl. The Fellowship all sprang to their feet, drawing their various weapons. Gandalf raised his staff; Aragorn drew Anduril, and Boromir his long sword. The four Shirelings whipped out their barrow-blades and Sting, and Maggie plunged her hand into her pouch full of sling-stones. Gimli hefted his axe, Legolas bent his bow, and Sarah fumbled for her knife, tucked away in her boot. She had a moment of panic before her hand closed around it.

Gandalf raised his voice and cried aloud. "Listen, Hound of Sauron! Gandalf is here! Fly, if you value your foul skin! I will shrivel you from tail to snout, if you come within this ring!"

The black shape on the edge of the firelight sprang forward with a sudden bound. There was a twang next to Sarah's ear, and with a horrible yell, the beast rolled away out of sight. Before she could blink, another arrow was fitted to Legolas's bow.

All around the hill, the many pinpricks of light went out. The two men and the dwarf took torches and search, but they could find no sign of the wolves, though they did find Legolas's arrow. Just the arrow, no Warg attached. The hill was deserted and bare except for them.

Slowly they lowered their weapons and lay down, except for Gimli and Maggie, who were on watch.

* * *

A few hours later Sarah awoke sleepily to Gimli's bearded face above her.

"Come on lass, wake up," he said, shaking her gently. She struggled to her feet, wrapping herself tightly with her blanket. Gimli was spreading his when without warning a storm of howls broke out all around them; the others sprang to their feet once more.

"Fling fuel on the fire!" Gandalf commanded the hobbits and Sarah. "Draw your blades and stand back to back!"

Sarah drew her knife as the flames leapt higher. The hobbits looked terrified as they pulled out their swords, and Maggie's left hand clutched the Ring as she began to whirl the sling with her right. Sarah took a step away. A hobbit whirling a sling above hobbit heads was a hobbit whirling a sling at about shoulder height for her.

The large grey shapes leapt over the boulders and through the trees. With a buzz, a sling-stone hit one smack between the eyes, and they all came at them. It was all a blur to Sarah. She ducked to avoid a flying warg, only to be hit by another one. It already had one of Legolas's arrows in it, but it was still stirring. She thrust her knife into the side of its head, and it lay still, inconveniently on top of her. As she let out an '_ooph!_' a sudden light like lightening blazed in the clearing, and Gandalf's voice rolled out like thunder.

"Naur an edraith ammen! Naur dan i ngaurhoth!" Through the warg's thick hair Sarah could see the entire hill catch fire. The monk's tonsure was now a dazzling white. Slowly the light died down, and then voices started calling.

"Sarah!"

"_Sa-rah!_"

"Sarah! Where are you?"

"Sarah?"

"Miss Sarah!"

"Over here," she called faintly. All ten gathered around and stared down at her. "I feel like Gimli," she groaned. "At least it's only one."

Maggie snickered, and Gimli looked very confused. Legolas, Aragorn, and Boromir pushed the carcass off of Sarah and kicked it out of the dying circle of flames. She let out a huge breath.

"Thank you!"

* * *

Finally, _finally_, they reached Moria. They stood on one side of a lake, a great expanse of wall on the other.

Gimli's voice held indescribable awe as he spoke, telling them what they had all guessed themselves. "The walls of Moria!"

The Fellowship made their way around the edge, Sarah and Maggie being particularly careful not to touch the water, knowing exactly what was in there.

"Dwarf doors are invisible when closed," Gimli told them, tapping the walls with his axe, listening for an echo.

"Yes, Gimli," agreed Gandalf. "Even their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten."

Legolas, walking behind, looked up at the stars. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" he murmured, just loud enough to be heard by Gimli. The dwarf growled.

Gandalf soon reached a spot of wall between to gigantic holly trees. He passed a hand over the stone. As he did so, the moon came out from behind a cloud. "Well, let's see. Ithildin. It mirrors only starlight and moonlight." He seemed rather pleased with himself. At the urging of an impatient Gimli, he read the elf-runes aloud. "It says 'Ennyn Durin Aran Moria. Pedo Mellon a Minno. Im Narvi hain echant. Celebrimbor o Eregion teithant i thiw hin.' In the common tongue it reads 'The doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter. I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs."

"Should it not say 'Say friend, and enter?'" Maggie asked. Sarah was starting to get seriously worried how flippant Maggie seemed about changing the time-line.

Gandalf looked unconvinced, narrowing his eyes at the wall. "No, it is most defiantly speak. The two words are completely different." He then turned to answer the question that Merry had asked.

Maggie ignored him and turned to Sarah. "Well, it was worth a try."

Sarah glared at her. "The inscription's probably slightly different than in the book, but that doesn't matter. What if it had worked? What if the Watcher in the Water doesn't attack. If we go into that mine even a little earlier, we may escape the Balrog, so Gandalf will not fall, the Balrog will not die, Gandalf will be there when the Fellowship breaks, he will not be able to defeat Saruman if he is not the white wizard, and Middle-earth will be doomed, us along with it. I for one do not want Grace living in a dark Middle-earth."

Maggie blinked, nonplussed. "Alright, Sarah." She frowned, taking a closer look at her friend. "Are you alright? You look more tired than usual, well, more than the rest of us do.

Sarah sighed. "I guess I'm just stressed out," she said finally. "There is so much to worry about."

"If you want my advice," Maggie told her, "leave it to Strider, Gandalf, and the rest. You're not responsible for the whole Fellowship, just yourself."

"I guess. Come on, that Watcher's going to attack soon, so we'd better gather what we want to take."

The two began sorting through the packs, slipping theirs', which they had let drop, back onto their backs. No sooner had they finished, before they were startled out of their thoughts by a loud splash, then another. Aragorn then did a good job of being ominous. He grabbed Pippin's arm (he had been the one throwing the rocks) and whispered in a low tone.

"Do not disturb the water."

If Gandalf was a toddler, then he would have stomped his foot. "Oh, it is useless!" he exclaimed, throwing up his hands and plopping down onto a rock.

Frodo, who had been rather quiet to this point, looked at the door. "It is a riddle, Gandalf," he said. "Speak 'friend' and enter. What is the elvish word for friend?"

Gandalf looked up, a slow smile beginning to form on his face. "Mellon," he pronounced. With a scrapping of stone on stone, the great West-gate of Moria began to open for the first time in hundreds of years.

Gimli began bragging to Legolas as they walked in. "Soon, master elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves! Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone!"

"I'd rather prefer to not to have _ripe_ meat," Sarah whispered to Maggie, but the cave echoed her words. Gimli glared at her, and then continued.

"This, my friend, is the home of my cousin Balin. And they call it a mine. A _mine_!" he laughed at the absurdity of it.

"This is no mine. It is a tomb!" Boromir noticed the fact that Sarah and Maggie already knew, and were desperately trying to ignore. All of the many bones underfoot.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Maggie whispered.

Gimli started to wail. "No! No!"

"Goblins!" Legolas plucked an arrow from the skull of one of Gimli's unfortunate kinsmen and examined the tip.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan!" Boromir shouted. "We should never have come here. Now get out of here! Get out!" He began to hurry the girls and Pippin out of the door.

Suddenly, tentacles sprang out of the water and grabbed Sarah and Boromir's ankles, hoisting them in the air.

Maggie screamed. "Sarah!"

"Strider!" Pippin yelled.

The octopus-thing swung Boromir close to Sarah, bringing them within reach. Boromir abandoned trying to reach his sword and grabbed the girl with both his arms, keeping them together as they struggled. Aragorn and Gandalf were in the water, swinging Anduril and Glamdring at the tentacles. The one holding Sarah was cut loose, leaving her clinging to Boromir. Just then, the head rose out of the water. Legolas shot an arrow into it as it opened its mouth. It made a sound like a wounded, dying elephant (or Oliphant). Gandalf's next stroke hit the arm holding Boromir and Sarah. Down they fell, landing hard on the surface of the water. Aragorn was there in an instant, helping them to their feet as Legolas shot arrow after arrow, until the Watcher was peppered with them.

"Into the caves! Quick!" Aragorn yelled, echoing what Gandalf had told the hobbits moments earlier. As they ran back into the mountain, the Watcher pulled itself up onto the shore and began to tear down the entrance. They sped to the other side of the gate-room, barely making it in time. As the last stone fell into place, utterly black darkness fell with it.

Slowly, Gandalf kindled a light on the end of his staff. "We now have but one choice," he declared solemnly. "We must face the long dark of Moria." He started to lead the way up the steps and into the first passage way. His voice echoed strangly as he spoke. "Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world.

They walked on in silence, until Merry tripped, and kicked a stone into the wall. The noise was unnaturally loud in the stillness.

"Quietly now," Gandalf cautioned, following his own advice. "It is a four day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence here may go unnoticed."


	10. Questions and Answers: Middle-earth Q&A

(Grace's POV)

The sun shone down from a break in the clouds. It had been cloudy and chilly the past week, ever since the Fellowship left, in fact. Grace felt as if the sky was reflecting her mood: dreary and depressed. She sat down on a bench in the garden, the same bench that she had met Bilbo on. There was no-one nearby. 'Dan and 'Ro were out yrch-hunting, as they called it, Bilbo was writing another song with Lindir, and Bellethiel and Miril were nowhere to be found. She looked down at the book in her hand. With a bit of puzzling she could read the words written in Tengwar on the cover.

_A Sindarin Grammar  
Compiled by Erestor for Argonui's Use  
TA 2860_

It proudly proclaimed. Grace's eyes had looked like Gollum's when she realized that Argonui was Aragorn's great-great-grandfather.

When Erestor had realized who Grace was, and the predicament that she was in, he had apologized profusely, and to make amends he had begun to teach her Sindarin. That was where she had come from now. She didn't know much, maybe enough to get her point across to someone who spoke no English, or Westron, as it was called here, and her vocabulary consisted mostly of words for objects around the house. Erestor was a good teacher, though, and she was progressing rapidly. It helped being surrounded by the language on a regular basis, she supposed.

Grace sighed and opened her book. It just had to be written in Tengwar. That was one of the first things that she had learned, but still.

"Hír _nín_," she muttered under her breath, "not hír _nin_. Will I ever get that right?"

_Doo-duuun!_ A clear horn call came up from the direction of the gates, interrupting her train of thought. Grace looked up from her book, closed it with a snap, jumped up, and ran lightly down the path, catching up her long skirts as she did so. She turned a sharp corner, brining her to a ledge overlooking the path to the river. The view was screened by trees and bushes, but through the foliage Grace could see a line of elves and men, some on horseback, some not, making their way up to the gate to Lord Elrond's house. Turning she ran back in the direction that she had come, taking the quickest way to the main house of Imladris.

She reached the front door a few minutes after the, well, the procession, for lack of a better word. There was a flurry of activity, each person there, besides Grace, knowing where to go and what to do. The twelve year old stood to the side feeling awkward and out of place.

"Ithilwen! Thank the Valar! Run to the in Hall of Healing and fetch clean rags and a bowl of water. We have run short, and there are still many more to tend to." Before Grace registered who was talking to her, Bellethiel was gone.

Grace blinked, and then shook herself. "Right, elven infirmary wing. On it!" She whirled around and dashed into the House.

* * *

Ten minutes and several wrong turns later, she was back, her arms full of strips of linen, a bowl of water carefully balanced in front of her. Things had settled down slightly. The uninjured men that were not aiding the healers had left, and the various pallets were organized. Still, it was hard to find Bellethiel in the group gathered there. Miril found her first.

"Thank you, Ithilwen," she exclaimed, upon seeing her arms full of cloth and water. "Come over here." There was a man lying on the ground, a long gash on his upper left arm. He looked very pale, but he managed something between a grimace and a smile.

"Lady Grace," he murmured.

Grace blinked, nonplussed, before recognizing him. "Halbarad!"

"Here, hold your hands here like so," Miril told her, showing here where to place her hands. "Keep them, there, that's right."

Several minutes passed, the two elves working in silence. Finally they were finish, and Halbarad lay asleep.

"Will he be alright, Miril?" Grace asked.

Miril wrapped her arm around her. "Yes," she replied, "he will be fine. Come, there are many more who need our help."

Together the two stood and walked to the next wounded Dunedan.

* * *

(Maggie's POV)

It seemed like they had walked for days. In all likely hood, they probably had. At times, Gandalf seemed to think that he was some sort of tour guide, like right now.

Currently he had stopped and was feeling the wall, running his fingers over the veins of Mithril that were there. He now turned to the group.

"The wealth of Moria was not in gold or jewels – but mithril. Bilbo had a shirt of mithril rings that Thorin gave to him."

Gimli's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief. "That was a kingly gift!"

"Yes," the wizard agreed. "I never told him, but its worth was greater than the value of the entire shire.

Maggie, who was walking directly behind Frodo, saw him stagger slightly.

As they trudged through the dark mines, Maggie became aware that she had much better night vision than the others. Things were clearer in the dark then they had ever been before. She clutched the Ring to her chest. It had been growing heavier lately, weighing on her mind, and she didn't like it. Something was off. She scoffed. Of course something was off, she was carrying the most evil and dangerous object in Middle-earth, for Pete's sake. She shook herself mentally and quickly directed her mind to something completely different. Ah! There she had it! Dr. John Hamish Watson's voice played though her mind. "_There's a severed head. There's a severed head in the fridge. Why is there a severed head in the fridge._"

* * *

The Company soon came to a steep stair that led to a splitting of ways. When they had all reach the top, Gandalf looked around with an air of confusion. "I have no memory of this place." He sounded extremely worried. Plopping down on a rock to think, he pulled out his pipe.

The rest of the fellowship followed suit, Aragorn and Merry also pulling out pipes. Merry, Sarah, Pippin, and Sam talked quietly together, mostly about food.

Maggie went to sit beside Gandalf, clutching the Ring. She had a bad habit when it came to necklaces, always holding them in her hand and tugging on them. She leaned against him a bit as he smoked and muttered to himself. Frodo came up, talking to Gandalf urgently.

"There is something down there," he said, pointing back the way that they had come.

Gandalf nodded, as if he had suspected it. "It is Gollum.

"Gollum?" repeated Frodo.

Gandalf nodded again. "He has been following us for three days."

"He escaped the dungeons of Barad-Dur?" Frodo sounded incredulous, and for a good reason.

"Escaped…or was set loose," Gandalf seemed to occasionally enjoy being ominous. "Now the Ring has brought him here." Gandalf glanced at Maggie's hand, and then back to Frodo. "He will never be rid of his need for it. He hates and loves the Ring, as he hates and loves himself." Gandalf shook his head sadly. "Sméagol's life is a sad story.

Frodo looked up, confused.

"Yes, Sméagol he was once called. Before the Ring found him. Before it drove him mad."

Maggie shivered, squeezing her hand tighter around the object in question.

"It is a pity Bilbo did not kill him when he had the chance," Frodo said bitterly.

"Pity?" asked Gandalf, putting his arm around Maggie. "It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. Pity and Mercy. Many that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them, Frodo? Do not be too eager to deal out death and judgment. Even the very wise cannot see all ends. My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or for ill, before this is over. The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many."

Frodo sighed. "I wish Bilbo had never found the Ring. I wish none of this had happened."

Gandalf put his other arm around Frodo. "So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are many other forces at work in the world, Frodo and Maggie, besides the will of evil. Bilbo was _meant_ to find the Ring, just as Frodo was _meant_ to bring it to Rivendell, and Maggie was _meant_ to bear it. And that is an encouraging thought." After that bit of advice, or encouragement, or whatever you want to call it, Gandalf looked up and strait down one of the passages. "Ah! It is that way."

Merry scrambled to his feet. "He's remembered!"

Soon everybody was on their feet again, and Gandalf led the way down the new passage as he answered Merry.

"No, but the air dos not smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

* * *

They walked for a long while. Maggie's tired feet could not tell if it was one hour or twenty. At last the dim glow that Gandalf's staff gave off stopped reflecting on the two walls of the passage, and instead illuminated a small circle around them.

"Let me risk a little more light!" With those words, Gandalf's staff lit up, giving off a blinding flash of pure white light. It hurt Maggie's eyes after such a long time in the dark.

"Behold the great realm and Dwarf-city of Dwarrowdelf!"

The hall was vast. Great columns going up as far as the eye could see, in all directions. Maggie could just imagine it teaming with dwarves, lights and lanterns making it as bright as a summer's day. Then the light was gone, Gandalf dimed his staff again. Through the gloom they could make out a single shaft of light slanting down into a room off of the main hall. Gimli evidently recognized it for what it was. He took off running.

"Gimli!" Gandalf called in alarm.

They all hurried after him, and found him kneeling beside the tomb, sobbing unabashedly. Gandalf stepped up to the white marble slab, and read the inscription.

"'Here lies Balin, Son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.' He is dead then." Gandalf continued speaking, but as if to himself. "It is as I feared." He handed his hat and staff to Pippin, then bent down and lifted a heavy, dust-laden book from the skeleton that still held it. He opened it, ignoring the few loose pages that drifed down, and blew the dust off.

"They have taken the bridge," he read, "and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep." He paused to turn the page.

The four male hobbits look frightened. Maggie was being held close by Sarah, who was also shaking slightly. They both knew what was coming, and that they might die. It was one of those moments where even if nobody died in the movie, a stray arrow might very well kill them. They tuned back in as Gandalf began to read again.

"We cannot get out. A Shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out. They are coming." Gandalf looked up as he said the last three words, and Maggie was not entirely sure if he had read them, or meant them.

There came a clang. Then a crash. With each noise the culprit, Pippin, winched. There was utter silence for a minute, then-

"Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" Gandalf snatched first his staff, then his hat from the hobbit.

Boom! Boom! Boom boom! Boom! Drums began to sound. Maggie's stomach started to feel like a clothing machine on spin cycle. Boom! Boom! She pressed closer to Sarah, who in turn was squeezing her tightly. Boom! Sam's eyes widened as he looked at Frodo, or, more specifically, at his sword. The sword that was currently glowing blue.

"Frodo!" he said in alarm.

Cries came from outside the room, shrieks and yells in many voices. Legolas quickly identified them, though it was rather unnecessary at the moment. "Orcs!"

Boromir ran to the door, looking out. Two arrows came whistling through, embedding themselves in the wood mere inches from his face.

Aragorn noticed the Hobbits and Sarah. "Get back!" he told them. "Stay close to Gandalf!"

The wizard positioned himself in front of them, gathering them together behind him. Aragorn and Boromir shoved the doors into position.

"They have a cave troll," Boromir remarked, as he caught the axe Legolas tossed them.

Gimli leapt onto Balin's resting place. "Aarghhh!" he shouted, hefting his formidable axe. "Let them come! There is one dwarf yet in Moria that still draws breath!"

Gandalf drew Glamdring the Foe-Hammer from its sheath. Frodo, Merry, Pippin, and Sam took this as the single to draw their own swords, three barrow-blades and Sting. Sarah drew her long knife, and Maggie detached her sling from where she had tied it to her belt. She quickly fitted a stone into the pouch, and then took a step back from the others.

The creatures outside began to batter against the rotting doors. Axe blades began to show through the wood, some of them of dwarf make, though only Gimli could tell that. As soon as there was a hole, Legolas shot an arrow through it. It must have it something, as there was a hideous screech, the attack stopped for a second, then redoubled in its ferocity.

The doors slammed into the stone floor and goblins leapt through. Legolas and Aragorn sent arrow after arrow at them, but they soon had to abandon their bows. Gandalf lead the charge of hobbits, while Maggie shot a few stones, was very careful not to hit one of their own. It all developed into chaos from there. It took Sarah three cuts and almost losing her arm to realize that she was more of a hindrance than a help. She quickly hid in a corner, lying completely still. Maggie was whipping off stones left and right, taking out orcs with the loaded sling than a launched stone more often than not.

They had gotten rid of about three quarters of the orcs before a new threat came in; the aforementioned cave troll. Legolas shot an arrow into its left shoulder, making it angrier than before. Its beady eyes fell on Sam. Maggie twirled her sling and a stone made contact with hit its forehead. Unlike Goliath, it only served as a minor irritation, allowing Sam to throw himself out of the way, but also drawing attention to the stone thrower. It swept it club in her direction, connecting with her middle, and throwing her out of the way and against a wall.

Pain exploded in her ribs. Maggie screamed. Through a fog, she watched Sam bash orcs with a frying pan (hey, it worked for Rapunzel in Tangled), then finally the troll being killed. As far as she could see, Merry and Pippin took her idea of rock-throwing, and were pelting the troll with them. Sarah had 'come back to life' and was helping them, as the orcs were clearly ignoring her. Then something seemed to happen, and the Fellowship froze, and then resumed motion quicker than ever. They threw themselves with a greater effort at the beasts. Merry and Pippin jumped on the troll, sinking their barrow-blades into it's thick hide. Boromir, Gandalf and Legolas became orc-killing machines. Dimly, Maggie realized that Frodo must have been 'killed'. Soon, there was only the troll left. Everyone threw themselves at it. Finally, Legolas shot an arrow in to its mouth.

It let out a sound like a wounded, er, something, and slumped to the floor, dead. There was a calm, and then Aragorn, Sam, and Gandalf rushed to Frodo, with Pippin and Merry close behind. Legolas and Boromir began to collect lost weapons, with Gimli helping them, when the dwarf caught sight of Maggie.

"Quick, lass!" he called to Sarah as he ran to her. Sarah followed him at a sprint.

"Maggie! Maggie! What happened?"

"Troll. I think I broke a rib."

Maggie saw Sarah's dirt-and-tear streaked face look at Gimli, clearly lost and terrified. He laid a heavy hand on her back.

"It'll be all right lass; your friend will be fine." He looked up. "Boromir!" he called, as Aragorn was helping Frodo to stand.

Boromir handed his arm load of Aragorn's knives to Merry, and ran over. He took one look at Maggie, and then picked the hobbit up in his arms. She put her's around his neck, as Gandalf yelled their destination. They took off running once more.


	11. To Be A Warrior

(Christopher's POV)

Pee-weet! Pee-weet!

Christopher froze, and then continued on again, moving silently though the trees.

Pee-weet! Pee-weet!

The call came again. Christopher stood still, then slowly rasied his hands to his mouth and returned it.

Pee-weet! Pee-weet!

He eased into a sitting position, his back against the mallorn trunk. Thirty minutes later he was joined by three other figures cloaked in grey.

"There is something amiss ahead and to the right." Haldir told his brothers and nephew. "Something off, as if it doesn't belong."

He moved noiselessly through the pillars of mallorns, the golden light of Arnor warming the earth. Silently the other's followed him. After a good bit of walking he raised his hand. They halted. Soundlessly and as one they reached into their quivers and pulled out arrows, fitting them to their bows.

Christopher's head shot up, peering into to the branches. He gave a shout, loosing an arrow as he did so.

"Ada!"

There was a thunk as the elven shaft embedded itself in the body of a great harry spider. It hissed in pain and fury, and then began to descend the tree, its many clustered eyes fix on Christopher. I was quickly followed by many of its kin.

The next few moments fell into confusion. The spiders kept coming until Christopher lost count; it felt like thirty at the very least. A spider was dead at his feet, though he wasn't quite sure how it had happened, and he had long ago cast aside is bow, a quiver can only hold so many arrows. He swung his blade in a circle, loping the leg off of one off the arachnids. It tumbled to the ground, the other seven limbs flailing about. H plunged his sword in the middle of its body and the legs curled up around him. He looked up.

Orophin was plucking arrows from dead spiders, Rumil was wiping his own sword, and Haldir was working to pile carcasses together. Christopher's spider was the last to be killed. He wrenched his sword from its abdomen and wiped it on the grass. He walked over to Rumil.

"What are spiders doing here, across the Anduin?" he asked "I thought that they all lived in Mirkwood. Ada?"

Rumil said nothing, only looked at his brothers. They walked over to the two. It was Haldir who spoke first.

"I do not like this. Never have the giant spiders of Mirkwood crossed the Anduin, and never have the set foot in the Golden Wood. They could not have done this without aid, for spiders cannot swim, not even these." Now he turned and smiled at Christopher. "Meanwhile, Anessen, I think that you have earned your braids."

* * *

Christopher stood tall and proud, though inside he was a nervous wreck.

'What if I fail? What if let Ada down? What if they're wrong? What if I haven't earned my braids?'

None of these thoughts, however, showed on the young elf's face as he stood with two other new warriors, their heads for the most part filled with thoughts of a similar kind. All of them were at least two centuries older than him, though they had begun their training around the same time that he had. There had been no elfling besides Melgildur in the past century.

Haldir paced the small line, tweaking tunics and straitening clasps. Finally he nodded and stepped back, taking his place with the others. Silmewen, Rumil, and Orophin stood together, Melgildur sitting on Rumil's hip. The friends and family of the other two stood near, watching solemnly as Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel came out from the trees.

Lord Celeborn was dressed as a warrior, with his bow strapped to his back and his sword at his side. His silver hair was held back by two intricate braids on either side of his head. The braids of a warrior, in the pattern of Doriath. The braids that the three young elves were about to receive. It was tradition for the eldest warriors present, in this case Lord Celeborn and Haldir, to perform the ceremony. Lord Celeborn moved to stand in front of the young elves.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate the courage and prowess of Ellyn assembled here before you." Lord Celeborn addressed the group gathered. "Each ellon trained and worked very hard to do his duty protecting you his people.

"When one's home is threatened then everyone becomes a defender and protector with whatever tool is at hand in order to save one's life, one's livelihood, one's home. This is expected of anyone who wishes to survive in a time of need. With a warrior, however, defending and protecting are choices often made when there is the respectable option to stay home, and no one would think differently of the ellon for remaining in Caras Galadhon and not fighting."

Lord Celeborn turned slightly and gestured to Christopher and his comrades.

"These Ellyn before you made a choice to excel beyond the necessary skills to survive. They have chosen to be available to protect and defend even when those tasks are not asked of anyone else. They have honed their fighting skills with the bow and the sword beyond that which is needed for the hunt. They have volunteered to go forward and meet the enemy rather than waiting for the enemy to come to them. They have followed the call of this duty with honor and dignity out of love and loyalty for their fellow Galadhrim.

Christopher straitened. There were still butterflies in his stomach, though. Masses of them. That didn't stop him from glowing with quiet pride.

"When a warrior has complete his first personal defeat of an enemy, he earns the mark of a warrior: the badge and sign which mark him as a proven fighter and a brother in arms. The warrior earns the right, privilege, and honor to wear his braids.

"You have all heard of the spiders that have invaded our land from Mirkwood and attacked our people. These Ellyn standing before met this enemy and defeated it with the might of their arms and the blood of their bodies. What they have done for you has earned them the right to the braids which set them apart, the braids which mark them for all to see as warriors."

Now Lord Celeborn turned to face the three elves. Going to the one on the left of Christopher he began braiding, his practiced fingers quickly working the hair into the intricate pattern of the Galadhrim. Next it was Christopher's turn. The insects in his stomach stilled as Lord Celeborn tied off the two braids, securing them with small strips of leather. He took a deep breath as Lord Celeborn moved onto the last elf. Soon he was done.

At a nod from Lord Celeborn, Haldir picked up the _sigil e-hereg_, the blood knife designed especially for use in the ceremony, and moved to stand next to the Lord of Lothlorien. It was tradition for the two eldest warriors present, to acknowledge the willingness of the new warriors to shed their blood in defense of others by shedding their blood for the new warriors.

Haldir handed the knife to Lord Celeborn, who took it and cut his right hand on the palm, and then handed it back to Haldir, who did the same. They stepped up to the first elf, and Lord Celeborn said loudly, echoed by Haldir, "Warriors' blood for warrior's braids!" They wiped their blood on the braids of the new warrior.

Then Lord Celeborn placed his finger tips on each side of the elf's face and kissed each of his eyes, then his mouth, and then proclaimed "a warrior is born, a sworn brother is given." He stepped to the side, and Haldir did the same. They moved onto Christopher.

"Warriors' blood for warrior's braids!"

"Warriors' blood for warrior's braids!"

"A warrior is born, a sworn brother is given."

"A warrior is born, a sworn brother is given."

It was then the last elf's turn, and the ceremonial words were said and echoed once more. Finally Haldir and Lord Celeborn stepped back and surveyed the new warriors.

"As per tradition," Lord Celeborn told them, "you may wash your hair after Arnor sinks into the west on tomorrow's evening."

Christopher and the others nodded their understanding, and then Haldir introduced them each by name to the small gathering. "Suiadan...Anessen...Glandur.

Christopher took a deep breath, and then headed over to his family.

* * *

A year later...

Christopher sat perched in a tree on the borders of Lorien, overlooking the Celebrant, or as men called it, the Silverload. He was one of several marchwardens strung out along the tree-line, keeping watch for any trouble.

His eyes narrowed, and he shaded them with his hand so as to block Arnor's rays. There was a smoke rising from where the gate of Moria stood, though the mountains hid it from the direct line of his sight. Making up his mind, he carefully swung into the next tree, and so on through the forest, before coming down a few yards further in. About halfway to the talan where Haldir was he was joined by Orophin.

"So you saw it as well?" his father-brother asked. Christopher nodded.

"Yes."

"That is well. Carry the message to Haldir, I will return." Christopher nodded once more, and continued on his way.

"Captain Haldir!" He called softly at the foot of a large mallorn. Within seconds a grey knotted rope dropped down before him. Using it as support, he swiftly climbed the tree.

Nodding his head respectfully, he gave his report. "Smokes and steams rise from Moria, Captain, billowing in great clouds almost to the top of the mountains."

Haldir looked at him. "Is it thick?" he asked. "Could you see anything through it?"

"Nothing, Captain."

Haldir opened his mouth to say more, but was interrupted by the arrival of another elf.

"Yrch, Captain. Many yrch coming from Moria."

"How many?" asked Haldir.

"I counted at least twenty-five, maybe thirty." The scout replied.

Haldir turned to Christopher. "Anessen."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Go and gather the rest together. We will meet at the place where the Celebrant enters the Wood."

Christopher nodded and hurried off. He was soon at the first post, down by the where the Nimrodel entered the wood, telling the elf there to meet at the appointed place. The next elf he found was Rumil.

"Ada! Yrch has been spotted coming this way, and Hal-Captain Haldir has called all the marchwardens to where the Celebrant enters the Wood."

His Ada acknowledged him, and he went on his way again, collecting the remaining marchwardens.

Soon they were all gathered at the point. Haldir had a map of the surrounding area spread against the bark of a mallorn, and was talking with the elf that had brought him the news.

"How close are they?" he was asking as Christopher came up.

"Too close, Captain," the other replied. "When I last looked they were following the Celebrant down. I believe that it is their intention to skirt the forest."

Haldir nodded. "Thank you," he told the scout. Then he noticed Christopher. "Ah! Anessen! Are they all here?"

"Yes Captain Haldir. All are present."

"Good." He now turned to the others, all nine gathered in a semicircle around him. "As soon as I give the order, pick them off from the trees. If any survive, myself, Rumil, and Taurion," here he gestured to another elf, "will deal with them."

All present nodded, and then quickly and silently dispersed to take up their positions. They did not have long to wait. As soon as the shadows lengthened a company of Moria-yrch was seen, going east. The scout had not counted wrong; there were twenty-six there, as well as two slave drivers – huge black beast with long, cruel wips, snarling in the tounge of Mordor and hurrying them onwards. Soon the yrch were well within bowshot.

A bird trilled in the trees. The yrch took no notice until ten of their number fell silently, each shaft finding it's mark. Then they most certainly noticed. They were thrown into confusion. Those remaining alive trampling over the dead and living alike in their haste to get away.

Christopher sighted down his shaft, aiming for one of the one making a run for the trees.

Another tweet. Another volley. This time nine fell, the tenth only narrowly escaping death. Now there were only seven left, three making it to the trees, the other four swiftly falling to six well-placed arrows. One more died to Orophin's aim, the final two making their end on edge of Haldir and Taurion's blades.

With that, the battle was over. It wasn't long, thanks to the skill of the Galadhrim with the bow, and Christopher felt both a little relived and a little disappointed. The later soon disappeared, however, when Rumil clapped him on his shoulder.

"I am proud of you, my son," He told him, and that was enough.

* * *

**Note as of 8/30/16: I have taken the 'blooding of the braids' ceremony from Elfine's Warriors Proud, found on this site, and Fiondil's Elf, Interrupted: Glorfindel Redux, found on Stories of Arda. The latter is perhaps the greatest Tolkien fanfiction ever written. **


	12. In Khazad-Dum His Wisdom Died

(Sarah POV)

Sarah ran faster than she thought was possible, but still the orcs gained on them. They were even crawling down the pillars from the ceiling like cockroaches. She felt utterly useless. She was no good with a knife, and had lain in a corner pretending to be dead while her _best friend_, Maggie Rivers, got her ribs broken by a cave troll.

"_Why did the Sorting Hat quiz put me in Gryffindor again?_" she wondered. She resolved in her mind to do better the next time. The next time that there was a battle, Sarah Hodgson would be fighting in it.

Sarah blinked, barely stopping herself from running into Legolas. The orcs had them hemmed in a circle, there was no-where to go. The males in the group got back to back, putting Sarah and Boromir, holding Maggie, in the middle of a small ring.

A faint glow, like fire-light, appeared in an arch across the hall. It seemed to terrify the orcs. They quickly scrambled back the way that they had come.

"Balrog," muttered Sarah, so quietly that even she could barely hear it.

Legolas pointed his bow at the fleeing orcs, looking utterly mystified. Boromir looked in the direction that Sarah was facing.

"What is this new devilry?" he asked Gandalf in a whisper.

Gandalf answered him, looking old and tired. "A Balrog. A demon of the ancient world. This for is beyond any of you." He looked in the opposite direction. "Run!" He took off, following his own advice.

Sarah had thought that she was going fast before. It turned out that it was possible to go faster than that. Spurred on by pure terror, they fled.

They passed through an arch and onto the top of a staircase. The hobbits halted. Sarah, from her position in the back, saw Aragorn and Gandalf arguing. Or really, Gandalf ordering Aragorn to lead them on.

"Do as I say!" he yelled, pushing Aragorn down the steps, and in to Sarah. "Swords are no more use here."

They ran, Frodo in the lead. Sarah was extraordinarily grateful that Maggie was being carried. If she wasn't, they would have had to throw her over someone's shoulder to get her anywhere. Maggie was deathly afraid of heights, just as Grace was of water. As it was, Sarah was not too happy about the staircase either, no matter how wide it was. They soon came to a large gap.

Legolas leapt across. He beckoned with his hand as the glow reached the arch that they had just gone through not a minute before. Rocks fell. Gandalf leapt across the gap. The elf steadied him, as arrows whined and skipped off the stones, just missing the hobbits' toes.

Boromir glanced down at Maggie, and then tossed her across to Legolas as gently as he could. Legolas quickly handed her to Gandalf, and then jumped back as Boromir grabbed Merry and Sam under his arms and leapt across, just as the part of the arch that they had stood on crumbled and fell into the abyss.

Aragorn lifted Sam and threw him across to be caught by Boromir. Legolas shot more of the orc archers. He turned to Gimli, who held up a single finger.

"Nobody tosses a Dwarf." He heaved himself across the gape, teetering on the edge until Legolas caught him by his most prized possession. "Not the Beard!" he cried.

Sarah then launched herself into the air, just missing the edge. Legolas reach out and snagged her arm as she fell. She was yank up to safety just as Frodo was thrown by Aragorn.

Now it was only Aragorn and Pippin on the first half. The ground was shaking horribly. Suddenly, the section that they were standing on broke off. Aragorn flung Pippin up onto the solid part, and then scrambled up himself. They looked across the gap that they could never hope to jump to their friends on the other side. It was growing hotter by the second. More rock fell, one piece on the stair behind them. They were stuck on a pillar of rock. A pillar that was rather loose in the foundation. It started to tilt backwards and to Sarah's left. Aragorn clutched Pippin close, keeping them together, using his bow to steady them.

"Lean forward!" he commanded. Slowly the pillar began to go in the direction that he wanted it to. Legolas and Boromir reached their arms up to catch them.

"Come on! Now!" the elf shouted. It crashed into the main stair. Legolas caught Aragorn, and Boromir caught Pippin. They steadied themselves, and then they were off again. Behind them, the pillar slowly crumbled as it fell down and down and down.

They reached the narrow bridge of Khazad-Dum. Gandalf, still holding Maggie, began ushering every one across. As Aragorn passed him, he took the wounded hobbit.

"Over the Bridge! Fly!" To Gandalf it seemed as if the Fellowship was moving like slugs, Sarah passed him, holding her hand to her side to ease the stitch that was beginning.

They reached the far side of the bridge, as Gandalf stood, not quite on it, staring at the fire and the Shadow that appeared within. Now Gandalf turned and ran, but stopped in the middle of the bridge. He turned once more to face the creature of Fire and Shadow, one who was once a friend and colleague, a fellow Maia.

"You cannot pass!" he told it, as if he expected it to listen.

Frodo looked back. "Gandalf!" he yelled, panicked.

"I am the servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you! Flame of Udun! Go back to the Shadow!"

Sarah watched the scene that she had acted out so many times without thinking unfold. Even though she knew in her mind that she would see him again, it did not help while watching one she had come to see as a sort of grandfather/Dumbledore figure face down one of the darkest things in Arda.

"YOU! SHALL NOT! PASS!" the wizard's staff slammed onto the ancient stone. The Balrog seemed to laugh, cracking it's whip in the air. It stepped onto the bridge, and then fell!

Gandalf sighed, leaning on his staff, and then turned to walk away. The whip came up, curled around his ankle, and pulled him to the abyss. He scrabbled for a finger hold.

"NO!" shouted Boromir. "No!"

"Gandaaalf!" screamed Frodo, fighting against Boromir, who held him from running on to the bridge.

Gandalf looked straight into his eyes. "Fly, you fools!" he said, and then was gone.

Multiple people, including Sarah and Maggie, called out along with Frodo.

"Nooooooo!"

Arrows skipped off the stones as the remainder of the Fellowship fled, Frodo being bodily carried out by Boromir.

They walked into the pale sun shine, and then collapsed, stricken with grief. Sarah took Maggie from Aragorn, lowering her to the ground.

Maggie looked at Sarah through her pain and tears. "Why? I know why, but why, Sarah?"

"I don't know. I don't know."

They hugged each other, gently for the sake of Maggie's ribs. They had barely sat there a moment before they heard Aragorn's voice.

"Legolas, get them up."

The elf nodded, and then walked towards where Merry and Pippin were sitting/lying.

Boromir looked at Aragorn, incredulous. "Give them a moment for pity's sake!"

Aragorn looked at him with understanding, but also with urgency. "By night fall these hills will be swarming with orcs! We must reach the Woods of Lothlorien. Come Boromir. Legolas. Gimli, get them up."

Sarah looked at Maggie. "Do you think you could do piggy back?" she asked doubtfully.

Maggie looked equally dubious. "I can give it a try. Not sure how long I can manage it, but we can try."

In short order, Maggie was as comfortable as she could be on Sarah's back.

They continued like this for a while, but just as they were reaching a stream that they both guessed to be Nimrodel, Maggie gasped in Sarah's ear-

"I can't…go on…like this."

Sarah stopped, and called to Aragorn.

"Aragorn! It's Maggie."

He froze, then ran back a ways, looking like he wanted to face-palm.

"Maggie! I am sorry; I completely forgot that you were injured, and Frodo and Sam, too!"

He called a halt at the banks of the stream. He brought the three injured hobbits together, and had Frodo and Maggie remove their shirts (Sam's was a scratch on the head). Maggie balked at this.

"Err…Aragorn? Um, well, err."

Aragorn smiled gently. "I am a healer," he told her. "You have no need for embarrassment. If it would help, the others could turn their backs?"

Maggie nodded vigorously. All who had been listening (everyone) turned their backs to her, facing the stream. Sarah helped her unbutton her shirt.

Aragorn quickly examined her, his fingers gentle on her torso. He asked her several questions, then felt some more. At last he looked up.

"Your ribs appear to be bruised, and possibly cracked. You need to rest a bit before we can go on." He helped her button up her shirt. He then turned to Frodo.

"Most of the damage seems to have been deflected by your shirt," he told him. "You are only slightly bruised when you should have been killed." The amazement was still clear in Aragorn's voice.

Sam was last; all he needed was a fresh bandage on the scratch. "You did well," Aragorn said. "Many get much worse in return for killing their first orc."

The remainder of the original eleven members sat beside the trickling stream.

Legolas looked up suddenly. Contrary to popular belief, elves cannot go through Moria with perfect hair. He was just as dirty as the rest of them.

"I shall sing you a song of the maiden Nimrodel," he said. "It was she whom this stream was named after, for she dwelt beside it long ago.

They all looked up in vague interest. Legolas began.

"An Elven-maid there was of old,  
A shining star by day:  
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,  
Her shoes of silver-grey.

A star was bound upon her brows,  
A light was on her hair  
As sun upon the golden boughs  
In Lórien the fair.

Her hair was long, her limbs were white,  
And fair she was and free;  
And in the wind she went as light  
As leaf of linden-tree.

Beside the falls of Nimrodel,  
By water clear and cool,  
Her voice as falling silver fell  
Into the shining pool.

Where now she wanders none can tell,  
In sunlight or in shade;  
For lost of yore was Nimrodel  
And in the mountains strayed.

The elven-ship in haven grey  
Beneath the mountain-lee  
Awaited her for many a day  
Beside the roaring sea.

A wind by night in Northern lands  
Arose, and loud it cried,  
And drove the ship from elven-strands  
Across the streaming tide.

When dawn came dim the land was lost,  
The mountains sinking grey  
Beyond the heaving waves that tossed  
Their plumes of blinding spray.

Amroth beheld the fading shore  
Now low beyond the swell,  
And cursed the faithless ship that bore  
Him far from Nimrodel.

Of old he was an Elven-king,  
A lord of tree and glen,  
When golden were the boughs in spring  
In fair Lothlórien.

From helm to sea they saw him leap,  
As arrow from the string,  
And dive into water deep,  
As mew upon the wing.

The wind was in his flowing hair,  
The foam about him shone;  
Afar they saw him strong and fair  
Go riding like a swan.

But from the West has come no word,  
And on the Hither Shore  
No tidings Elven-folk have heard  
Of Amroth evermore."

His voice trailed off. "I cannot remember anymore," he muttered, his cheeks taking on a slight pink tinge.

Sarah smiled sadly. It had been one of her favorite songs, before she found that Middle-earth was real, and before she was flung into the middle of the War of the Ring. She had even memorized it.

"Come," Aragorn said, reminding them that they could not be here when the sun set. Already the shadows were long. They stood up, stretched, and started towards the Golden Wood.


	13. Reunions

(Christopher POV)

"Christopher, called Anessen, stood on a talen with his uncle and father. They were waiting for his other uncle to report back with news. Christopher would be sent next. He kept fidgeting. After the ambush on the orcs, not much had happened. He supposed he should be thankful, but he was only thirty-three, after all.

Orophin came swinging up. "Captain!" he called to his brother. "A group of ten has crossed the Nimrodel, and is heading for the Golden Wood. Among them are Legolas and Aragorn."

Haldir nodded at his brother. "Thank you, Orophin. Taurion and Rumil, go to alert the others. We shall greet them." His brother and Taurion bowed, and then swung down from the tree. Haldir looked at his nephew. "Are you ready, Anessen?" he asked.

"Yes!" Christopher replied.

An hour later, they were concealed in the trees, shadowing the group. Christopher narrowed his eyes at two of the figures, one a Halfling, and one a short man. Their hoods were up, and he was behind them, but something was familiar about them.

"His attention then drifted away, and soon he had to stuff his hand in his mouth to keep from laughing at what the dwarf was saying. The Lady, a sorcerer! Taurion, who was next to him, did not find it so funny, and from the look on his face, Christopher realized that he would have to endeavor to keep the two separate in the future.

"Stay close, young hobbits," said dwarf whispered. "They say there's a great sorceress that lives in theses woods. An elf-witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell and are never seen again."

"Mr. Frodo?" one of the Halflings asked another. Now why did that name sound so familiar? The dwarf continued to speak, after a concerned glance at the one called Frodo. At his first words, Haldir touched Christopher's arm, then slipped away, smirking slightly. Christopher nodded, then carefully, slowly, quietly drew an arrow from his quiver and fitted it to his bow. He too smirked when he heard what the dwarf was saying.

"Well, here's one Dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!"

At the last word, Haldir gave the signal and all ten elves present pulled their bowstrings back and held their arrows to the intruder's heads. Christopher had the distinct pleasure of being one of the ones covering the dwarf.

Haldir stepped forward, smirking at the group. "The dwarf breaths so loudly that we could have shot him in the dark."

Christopher smirked. The dwarf growled.

They marched the intruders back to closest talan, and allowed them to climb up. The short one with the hood had to be helped up the ladder, almost carried. Christopher idly wondered what was wrong with him.

Once they were up there, Haldir began to greet them by name, or at least those he knew.

"Welcome Legolas, son of Thranduil."

The elf replied. "Our Fellowship stands in you debt, Haldir of Lorin"

Haldir continued."Ah! Aragorn of the Dunedain, you are known to us."

The man, Aragorn, bowed. "Haldir" he said.

Huh, so they knew each other. Christopher mentally shook himself. If Orophin reconigzed someone, chances were Haldir would as well, and for that matter, Rumil too.

The dwarf spoke up again. "So much for the legendary courtesy of the Elves!" he exclaimed. "Speak words we can all understand!"

Haldir looked down his nose at him. Christopher had noticed that he was good at that when he wanted to be.

"We have not had dealing with the dwarves since the dark days," his uncle said in a superior voice.

The dwarf had a reply though. "And do you know what this dwarf says to that? Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul!"

Christopher had no idea what that meant, but it was clear that Rumil and Haldir did, as did the dark man, Aragorn of the Dunedain. He slapped the dwarf on the shoulder.

"That was not so courteous."

Then Haldir did something that completely surprised Christopher. He walked over to the hooded Halfling, glared down at him, then said-

"You bring great evil with you." Then turning to Aragorn he continued. "You can go no further."

They both went off to argue. Christopher was honestly a little surprised. Anyone who knew him knew that you could not win an argument with Haldir once his mind was made up. This Aragorn fellow must not know him very well.

The other man put an arm around the dark-haired Halfling and the hooded one.

"Gandalf's death was not in vain," he told them. "Nor would he have you give up hope."

Christopher jumped. Mithrandir was dead? That was grievous news, if he wasn't mishearing it. His Westron had become rusty through disuse, and he had only heard Mithrandir called Gandalf a handful of times. He hoped that he was mishearing.

The man turned his head to look at the hooded Halfling. "You carry a heavy burden, Maggie. Do not carry the weight of the dead."

Wait a second, Maggie?!"

Christopher went over to them. "Excuse me," he interrupted, drawing on barley remembered Westron, "Is your name perhaps Maggie Samantha Rivers?"

The hooded Halfling looked up, and then blinked. Then blinked. Then blinked again.

"_Topher_?" she asked, for it was a she.

"Maggie!" he cried. It was Maggie, his sister. He had found her. They were reunited at long last. He picked her up and squeezed her in what he used to call a bear hug. She let out a cry of pain.

"Put me down, Christopher Henry Rivers, or so help me…"

He put her down rather quickly. "What is the master?" he asked, and then corrected himself. "No, what is the _matter_?"

"A big nasty troll hit me with his club," she replied. "But that doesn't matter. What in the name of all that is good and holy happened to you?! _You are seven years old_! Not a teenager! And since when did you start braiding your hair?"

"I grew up. I have been here twenty-six years, and the braids are an honor and a privilege to wear. "

"Maggie (how in Arda was she a Halfling?) stared. "_Twenty-six _YEARS?! But, but, you look like you're thirteen. Christopher, what happened?"

"Elves age differently than humans," Christopher explained. "I don't remember exactly what it is."

"Maggie raised an eyebrow.

At that moment, they were interrupted by Haldir coming over. "Anessen!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing?" Christopher noticed that he was speaking Westron.

"Uncle Haldir," he replied in the same language, intentionally using the familiar address, instead of the more formal 'Captain'. "This is my sister, Maggie Rivers. She finally came here, like Lord Celeborn said she would.

Haldir smiled. "I am glad for you," he said, switching to Sindarin. "But she carries a great evil, as I said before. We have received word from the Lady to bring them at once to Caras Galadhon. Orophin and Rumil were originally going to stay, but I would assume that you would like your father here with you, instead of on the borders of our land?"

"Definitely."

* * *

(Maggie's POV)

It had been a surreal day. She had walked through the woods of Lothlorien beside her was seven-when-she-had-last-seen-him-a-few-months-ago-now-thirteen-year-old brother, catching up on what had happened.

_("So you've been here for twenty-six years?" Maggie held to Christopher's arm as she felt her way along the path._

_"Yes. After the f*** crashed – " Christopher was interrupted by Maggie doubling over in laughter, and Sarah, who had been listening in, having a sudden mysterious coughing fit._

_"I said something wrong, did I not?"_

_"Yes. Christopher." Maggie got her breath back "Be a good little boy, err, elf, and never use that word again. I believe the word you were looking for was 'truck', though we were in a car, a minivan to be precise."_

_"Oh, I had forgotten that. It has been a while. As I was saying, after the _**tr**_uck crashed, Haldir found me standing a little lost in the middle of Cerin Amroth. He took me to Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Apparently I, we that is, have been sent here for some purpose, though what it is, I cannot tell. Ada and Nanneth, Rumil and Silmewen, have taken me in, and raised me for the last six years. Lady Galadriel had seen that you would come here one day, and so I have been waiting for you. What has happened to you? My memories may be sketchy, but I'm fairly certain that you were taller."_

_"I woke up in the Shire, found that I was a Hobbit, and then I was literally bumped into by Merry and Pippin." Maggie gestured in the vague direction of the two Halflings in question, both jabbering away about their homeland to a smiling Haldir. "After that, the Black Riders –"_

_Christopher gave her a puzzled look._

_"Nazgul?"_

_Still blank._

_"Never mind, you don't want to know. They're terrible servants of the Dark Lord. Anyway, they chased us to Bree, a town of the Big People on the way to Rivendell, Imladris. There we met Aragorn and Sarah, and started towards Imladris. We stopped at Weathertop, an old watchtower, for a night, and the Black Riders attacked again. I was stabbed – "_

_"WHAT?"_

_"I was stabbed. A knife penetrated my shoulder. Do you seriously not know what stabbed is?"_

_"Yes, I know what stabbed means, Maggie. I'm not two."_

_"Good. Well, I don't remember much after that. I pretty much completely blacked out after seeing some pretty wicked statues, Sam says they were trolls, and the next thing I remember is waking up in a bed in Imladris, asking where I was, and being answered by Grace."_

_"Grace is here too?"_

_"Yep, she's been spending time in Rivendell. Lord Elrond said that she's too young to come with us and Sarah put her foot down as well. Back to the story. We left Christmas Day, and traveled south. We tried to cross the mountains, but Caradhras really didn't like us, and so we went through Moria." Maggie went quiet for a while then began again._

_"We found the tomb of Balin the Dwarf, and were attacked by goblins and a cave troll. We fled to the Bridge of Khazad-Dum, and there was a Balrog. Gandalf fought it and cracked the bridge. The Balrog fell, but its whip caught Gandalf's ankle, and, and –" she broke off._

_Christopher wrapped his arms around her and picked her gently up. She buried her face in his shoulder._

_"I, I knew it was going to happen," she whispered, "and I know what happens next, and that it's going to be alright, but it still hurts."_

_Christopher rubbed little circles on her back. "Who was Gandalf?" he asked at length._

_Maggie lifted her head from where it had been dampening his cloak. "Oh, the elves call him 'Mithrandir', the Grey Pilgrim."_

_Christopher sighed. "I had thought that, though I wished that it wasn't so. This is grievous news."_

_Any further conversation was cut off as they stepped into a light-filled glade. Maggie heard the light footfalls of approaching elves, and then many voices sounded around her, speaking in Sindarin, and soon Christopher had set her on the ground and removed the blindfold that Haldir had put on._

_"I am so sorry about that," Christopher told her. "I wish it could have been otherwise, but our laws –"_

_"Its fine," Maggie was quick to reassure him. "No harm done."_

_"That's good," Christopher grinned. "I am very glad that you are here now, Maggie. I missed you.)_

* * *

Maggie blinked and shook her head to get rid of the memory. They had rested there on Cerin Amroth, before Haldir had hurried them on again. Now she was standing on the edge of a small cliff beside Haldir, and looking down at Caras Galadhon, the heart of Elvendom on earth, realm of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, the Lady of Light, to quote Haldir.

They soon reached the city, and climbed a long stair case, Boromir once again carrying her, her ribs flaring up in the last hour. Soon, they were at the top. When all the Fellowship was gathered, the Lord and Lady descended from wherever they had been.

Celeborn was the first to speak. "The Enemy knows you have entered here. What hope you had in secrecy is now gone," he began. "Eight there are here yet Nine there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him. I can no longer see him from afar."

Galadriel's face took on a look of deep sadness. "Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land. He has fallen into Shadow."

Celeborn looked at her in surprise. Clearly she had not mentioned this before.

Legolas confirmed her words bitterly. "He was taken by both Shadow and Flame: A Balrog of Morgoth, for we were lead needlessly into the net of Moria."

Galadriel looked at him rather sternly. "Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life. We do not yet know his full purpose." She now turned her gaze upon Gimli. "Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-Dum fill your heart, Gimli, so of Gloin. For the world had grown full of peril, and in all lands love is now mingled with grief."

"What now becomes of this Fellowship?" asked Celeborn. "Without Gandalf, hope is lost."

Maggie could hear Sarah muttering beside her.

"Way to be encouraging."

Maggie suppressed a snort.

Galadriel looked at them solemnly. "The quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail – to the ruin of us all." Now she smiled slightly. "Yet home remains why the company is true." She let her gaze fall upon Boromir, and then smiled in earnest. "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will sleep in peace." Her voice seemed to continue on in Maggie's head, echoing oddly.

"_Welcome Maggie of America, one not from this world!"_


	14. Fellowship Bonding Time

(Sarah POV)

The elves were singing in the trees above them. Legolas stood listening to them, grief clear on his face. At the questioning glances of those in the Fellowship who did not speak Sindarin, he said what it was they were singing.

"A lament for Gandalf."

Merry glanced up. "What do they say about him?" he asked.

Legolas looked down at him. "I have not the heart to tell you," he said. "For me the grief is still too near."

Sarah stole a peek at Christopher. He gave a slight shake of his head. No translations were coming from that corner. She looked at him again. He had gotten so _big_! How does a seven-year-old become taller than you in several months? She jerked her head to rid herself of the thought.

Sam paused in his unfolding of bedrolls. "I bet they don't mention his fireworks," he commented. "There should be a verse about them." He began to sing:

"The finest rockets ever seen  
They burst in stars of blue and green  
Or after thunder, silver showers…  
…Came falling like…" he hesitated, "a rain of flowers.

"Oh that doesn't do them justice by a long note," he grumbled at the end. "You should have seen them, Sarah, Maggie. They were beautiful, if you take my meaning."

Maggie and Sarah shared a glance. Maggie nodded.

"What about this?" Sarah suggested, and then began to sing the Lament for Gandalf from the book, as it was written in the book. It had been one of her favorites, along with the Lay of Nimrodel, and one of the first that she had memorized.

"When evening in the Shire was grey  
his footsteps on the Hill were heard;  
before the dawn he went away  
on journey long without a word.

"From Wilderland to Western shore,  
from northern waste to southern hill,  
through dragon-lair and hidden door,  
and darkling woods he walked at will.

"With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves, and Men,  
with mortal and immortal folk,  
with bird on bough and beast in den,  
in their own secret tongues he spoke.

"A deadly sword, a healing hand,  
a back that bent beneath its load;  
a trumpet-voice, a burning brand,  
a weary pilgrim on the road.

"A lord of wisdom throned he sat,  
swift in anger, quick to laugh;  
an old man in a battered hat  
who leaned upon a thorny staff.

"He stood upon the bridge alone  
and Fire and Shadow both defied;  
his staff was broken on the stone,  
in Khazad-Dum his wisdom died."

When she had finished, she lay looking at the stars, listening to the conversation going just on a little ways away, by a large rock.

Aragorn had gotten up from sharpening Anduril and walked over to Boromir, who sat with his back to a boulder, staring into the distance.

"Take some rest," Aragorn advised him. "These borders are well-protected."

"I will find no rest here," Boromir replied. It must be Sarah's imagination that detected the small quiver in his tone. She closed her eyes, but could not help hearing the rest. "I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me 'Even now there is hope left.' But I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope."

There was a long pause.

"My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing. And now our, our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right and I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored. Have you ever seen it Aragorn? The White tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?"

Boromir spoke so passionately that in her mind's eye Sarah could clearly see the white walls of Minas Tirith, though it had been quite a bit since she had last seen the Return of the King.

Aragorn's reply was so low she could barely hear it. "I have seen the White City, long ago."

"One day, our paths will lead us there. And the tower guards shall take up the call: 'The Lords of Gondor have returned!" There was something in Boromir's voice that Sarah could not pinpoint. It was utter conviction, but something else as well. She fell asleep while trying to puzzle it out.

* * *

(Maggie POV)

Maggie blinked. Wasn't it dark just a second ago? The last thing she remembered was Sarah singing… Oh, she had probably fallen asleep. She gingerly raised herself up on her elbows, winching from the pain in her ribs. That was the last time she stood up to a troll. She was not Ronald Weasley, thank you very much.

She looked around. The other four hobbits were sitting a ways off on the grass, their backs to a tree, eating what looked like fruit. Legolas's bow and Gimli's axe were propped up in the same corner of the tent, though their owners where nowhere to be scene. Aragorn also was absent. Boromir was in the same place as last night, looking lake he hadn't slept a wink. Sarah was-

"You're awake! Thank goodness! I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to fend the Hobbits off of your food for much longer. Do you want to come eat?"

-standing right beside her.

Maggie ignored her question, asking one of her own. "Where is Christopher?"

"I'm not sure. His, err, ada, err, adar, oh, whatever he calls him came by early this morning to bring him to Lord Celeborn, and he hasn't come back yet. I repeat my earlier question. Do you want something to eat?"

Maggie considered it a moment, and then realized that she was actually very hungry. "Yes please!"

Sarah helped her to her feet, being very careful of the rib, or ribs, whichever it was. "Aragorn has gone in search of a Healer to have a look at you. You really need to stop throwing yourself in front of weapons, especially when they're not meant for you. First the Morgul-knife, now this. Nobody died in the original version; I'd prefer it if nobody died in whatever weird AU we're in."

While Sarah had been lecturing angered had been slowly building up inside of Maggie; a hot, unreasonable anger. Now it burst out, venting itself on her friend, though in a whisper.

"Somebody did too die, Sarah Hodgson, or do you not remember Amon Hen? I had absolutely no intention of getting pounded by a troll, or do you think that I'm actually enjoying this? If you do, you're crazier than I thought. At least _I _stood and fought, I didn't hide in a corner while others risked their lives!"

Sarah jerked as if stung. Maggie pulled out of her arms and sat down by the other hobbits. The three younger ones welcomed her gladly, but Frodo gave her a shrewd look as he handed her a piece of bread. Maggie ignored the look and accepted the bread. She sat nibbling on it and taking in the sights and sounds of Lorien.

* * *

(Sarah POV)

Sarah leaned against the rock next to Boromir. He glanced at her.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

Sarah shook her head slowly. "I don't know," she replied. "She's never yelled at me before and…" Sarah trailed off.

Boromir put a hand on her shoulder.

"I heard what passed between you. I do not pretend to understand all of it, nor do I know what the Hill of the Eye on the borders of Gondor has to do with someone dying, but you are right, and she is wrong. You did the right thing in Moria. If you had tried to fight, you would have been a hindrance, not a help. Do not blame yourself for Maggie's wound."

"Thank you," Sarah whispered, and then, taking even herself in surprise, she laid her head on Boromir's shoulder. Boromir blinked, uncertain, and then he awkwardly wrapped an arm around her. He cast his mind back to the last time he had comforted a child. He had been fourteen, he recalled, comforting his ten year old brother after their father had belittled him. It had been a long while ago.

After a moment Sarah lifted her head. "Thank you," she said again, avoiding Boromir's eyes. She was sure her cheeks were a slight pink. Boromir smiled at her, and then looked around.

"I –" he began, but was interrupted by the appearance of Aragorn, closely followed by a silver-haired elf-woman.

The two conversed for a moment in Sindarin, and then the elf went over to where Maggie was sitting. She felt her over, and then nodded, speaking quickly in the elven language. Aragorn said something quietly to Maggie, and then picked her up gently and walked away, followed by the stranger. Boromir watched them go with a strange gleam in his eye.

Sarah glanced at him questionably. He shook his head. "I still do not feel entirely comfortable with the elves," he told her. "When we were younger, our nursemaid told my brother and I stories about the Golden Wood, and the Sorceress that lived there."

"What is he like? Your brother?"

"Faramir? He is noble, loyal, quiet and bookish, but strong, stronger than men think, I deem. I wish it were not so, for our father, Lord Denethor, believes him to be less than I, though that is not so. Indeed, I believe him the stronger, for his strength is not all on the battle field, as is mine, but in the quiet matters. When the Enemy took the east bank of Osgiliath he was with me as we held the bridge against them, to allow the last of our men to escape. We swam the Anduin, but I would have perished that night if not for him, he kept me afloat and encouraged me when I thought all hope lost. I miss him dearly." Boromir fell silent.

Sarah smiled sadly. "I miss my sister, too, and my Mom, and my Dad."

Boromir looked blank.

"My mother and father."

"Ah." Now he nodded. "What are they like?"

"It's hard to describe them. Mom's really graceful, almost like an elf, come to think of it. She works really hard for us, though we don't often appreciate it. Dad's, well, a bit like Aragorn to be honest, only not so, well, ancient, if you know what I mean."

"I do. My brother is a bit like that as well."

"I miss them. I wonder if I'll ever see them again." Sarah sighed, and leaned her head against Boromir's shoulder again.

After a while the hobbits started some game, seeming to involve a lot of leaping about that somehow looked dignified, or as dignified as prancing hobbits can look. It was into the midst of the game that Christopher came back to the clearing. He had a small elfling perched on his shoulders, singing some merry tune. He glanced about for Maggie, spotted Sarah, and came over to her.

"Mae govannen Sarah," he greeted. "Is Maggie still sleeping?"

"No," she replied, "Aragorn came with another elf and went somewhere with her."

Christopher narrowed his eyes at her. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, peachy."

Christopher nodded, but looked unconvinced. "What did he or she look like?" he asked.

"It was a she," Sarah told him. "I couldn't see very well from here, but she had silver hair. Frodo would probably know where she is, he speaks a bit of elvish."

"Sindarin," Christopher corrected absently. "Which one is he?"

"The dark- haired hobbit. Slightly more mature than the others. A stout little fellow with red cheeks."

"That seems to go for most Halflings, care to be more specific?"

"Well," Sarah continued with a grin, still quoting, "He's taller than some and fairer than most. He has a cleft in his chin, if that helps any."

"It does, thank you." Christopher bowed gracefully and started towards cavorting hobbits, and then halted and turned back. "Do you mind watching Megildur for me? Nana handed him off, and I'd like to find my sister."

When Sarah nodded her ascent, Christopher swung the still-singing elfling off of his shoulders and spoke to him in Sindarin. The little elf nodded, and then planted himself in Boromir's lap. Boromir blinked and stared down at him. Christopher laughed.

"Ci hannon," he said, and then continued on his quest for the location of Maggie.

Sarah and Boromir exchanged a look, and then Boromir asked the question that they were both wondering the answer to.

"What are we to do with a child who only speaks Sindarin, and in a dialect that I do not know?"


	15. Novaer, Muinthel-nin

Christopher hummed slightly as he hurried over the grass of Lothlorien. He had found the Halfling easily enough, he had just walked over to the small group and asked - in Sindarin - where his sister had gone. The fatter Halfling had stared at him with an expression bordering on awe, and odd experience for Christopher, he was used to fond exasperated looks from Silmewen and Rumil and his brothers, not awe. He soon reached the Mallorn that housed his family's talan and in a few short seconds was in the room that Silmewen reserved for patience. It was there that he found Maggie. She was lying on her back talking to Aragorn, who was laughing at what she was saying.

"Maggie!" Christopher called, interrupting their talk.

"Christopher!" She tried to sit up, but was stopped by Aragorn's hand on her shoulder.

Aragorn stood to his feet after he was assured that Maggie would not try to get up. "Anessen," he greeted, bowing slightly. "I will take my leave." He quickly followed the path that Christopher had just taken.

After greeting his adopted mother, Christopher moved to take the seat that had been vacated.

"How are you feeling?" he asked anxiously.

"In pain," Maggie told him, "but it's not as bad as before. Silmewen says that I will be allowed to move about in four or five weeks."

"This is good news!" Christopher grinned. "Do you know who Nan-Silmewen is?"

Maggie gave him an odd look. "A healer…" she said slowly.

"Not just healer, she is my Nana, or Nanneth, as some call it." Silmewen glanced over at hearing her name amid the stream of Westron, but after a moment returned to her work.

Maggie appeared to be trying to see her eyebrows while attempting to place where she had heard the word 'nana' before. Christopher took pity on her.

"The Westron, err, English word is Mother."

"Ah!" Now she nodded.

"So," she began. "Everyone is accounted for, except for Mom. Any ideas where she might be?"

Christopher shook his head. "No, and neither does the Lady Galadriel, I have asked. I think that she may have fallen out of the," he paused, "the _truck_ when we crashed, though I cannot be certain. A lot was going on then."

"Yeah," Maggie agreed. There was silence for a while, and then Christopher called Silmewen over.

"Nana! This is my sister, Maggie."

"It is wonderful to meet you, Maggie." Silmewen smiled at the Halfling.

Said Halfling blinked, and then looked at her brother for a translation.

"Nana speaks only Sindarin," he explained, and then translated. "She said: It is wonderful to meet you, Maggie."

"It is wonderful to meet you, as well," Maggie replied, and then she grabbed Silmewen's hand. "Thank you for taking care of 'Topher."

"She said: It is wonderful to meet you, as well." Christopher shifted a little uncomfortably. "And, Thank you for taking care of 'Topher." at the questioning look he elaborated. "'Topher is the shortened version of my Westron name."

Silmewen squeezed Maggie's hand. "It was my pleasure, he is a joy to raise."

After Christopher translated this, Silmewen seemed to notice that the topic of conversation was making him a bit uncomfortable, and so she changed the subject.

"Where is Melgildur?" She fixed Christopher with her best you-are-not-doing-what-you-are-supposed-to-young-elf Look.

"I left him with Maggie's friend Sarah and Boromir of Gondor."

Silmewen raised an eyebrow. Christopher winched. Unseen by either of the elves, Maggie scowled at the mention of Sarah's name.

"Sarah likes taking care of children, she earned money doing it Before."

Silmewen nodded sharply. "Please go collect him, he is your responsibility."

"Yes Nana." Christopher bowed slightly.

Maggie giggled. She may not have been able to understand the words, but the body language was clear enough. Christopher turned to her.

"I have to go find my brother." he told her.

"You have a brother?" Maggie asked, very interested in this piece of information.

"Yes, an elfling. He is three years of age."

"Well go get him, before Silmewen uses that spoon she's holding."

Laughing, Christopher swung down the ladder.

He arrived in the Fellowship's glade to find his brother animatedly telling Gimli the Dwarf about his favorite toy bow. A small circle comprised of Halflings and Men surrounded them while Gimli nodded and smiled, awkwardly patting the elfling's head. All looked up at the sound of Christopher's laugh.

"Anessen!" With a cry, Megildur sprang out of the Dwarf's lap and tumbled towards Christopher, seizing his hand and drawing him towards his new best friends.

After detaching his hand from the overeager elfling, Christopher gave a bow to the others before turning to Sarah.

"Thank you for taking such good care of Megildur Sarah. Would you care to come to my talan? Maggie is waiting there."

Sarah shifted, a small frown appearing on her face. "I'll be fine," she said shortly.

Now it was Christopher's turn to frown. This wasn't the first time that he had a hint that not all was right between the girls.

"Are you shure?" he asked anxiously.

The Man Boromir of Gondor came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Is there a problem?" he asked almost challengingly.

Christopher tried once more to convince Sarah to come. "Nanna's there, and I want you to meet her. Ada should be coming in a moment, he just has to give a report to Lord Celeborn."

Sarah was beginning to waver when Boromir interrupted again. He was really starting to annoy Christopher.

"Sarah, a word?"

Sarah nodded, and they stepped out of hearing, or so they thought. Christopher could eavesdrop without even trying. It was pitifully easy.

"Sarah, these are perilous woods. I do not trust the Lady, nor the other elves, not after last night."

"My sister is an elf!"

There was a sigh.

"I know, still, if you must go, be careful. There is no knowing what may befall you."

"I'll be fine, Boromir. I trust Chris-Anessen I mean. He is long past his 'chase-all-cats-in-sight' stage. Or at least, I hope so. If he isn't, there is something dreadfully wrong. Boromir, it'll be okay. What could possibly go wrong? Besides, Aragorn trusts them."

That seemed to be the end of the discussion, and the two came back from the boulder. Christopher glared at Boromir as he walked behind Sarah. He did not take kindly to anyone insulting Lady Galadriel.

"I'll come with you," Sarah told him. "Just don't expect me to talk to Maggie."

Christopher gave her an odd look, but did not comment. There was definitely something going on between the two. Well, hopefully it would be resolved soon.

The two elves and girl set off across the green-sward to the slightly thicker part of the city. They soon came to the ladder. Megildur squirmed until Christopher put him down, and then he raced up the rungs. Christopher and Sarah followed at a slightly slower pace.

As they entered the flet, Maggie's delighted face quickly turned a bright tomato red.

"Err, S-Sarah," she stammered.

"Maggie." Sarah's voice was hard and unforgiving.

"Look, Sarah, I shouldn't have said that. I don't know why I did. I think it's the Ri - er - It. You _know_ I'm not usually like this."

Sarah stared at her. "Sure," she said. "Blame it on the Ring." She snorted. "It's not the Imperious Curse. Wrong fandom."

"Sarah! I didn't mean it, truly. Please forgive me."

For a moment an internal struggle flashed across Sarah's face, before she nodded.

"I forgive you." With a few steps Sarah crossed the platform and very, very gently hugged Maggie.

"Thank you," Maggie whispered so quietly that even Christopher's ears barely caught it.

While the two girls talked quietly together, Christopher settled down with his back to a tree and cast his mind back to what Lord Celeborn had spoken about that morning.

* * *

_(Christopher had not slept much that night, preferring to watch his sister sleep. Occasionally he spoke with Legolas, answering whatever questions the older elf had. Dawn had barely broken before Rumil had come for him, saying that Lord Celeborn would speak with him._

_They quickly reached the great Mallorn, and with an encouraging nod Rumil left him at its base. Christopher climbed the ladder, passing through many small flets as he ascended the tree. When he came to the great hall it was to find Lord Celeborn waiting for him at the door._

_"__Welcome, Anessen Rumilion__," Lord Celeborn greeted him. With a wave of his hand he invited Christopher to take a seat on a small chair by his great one._

_Lord Celeborn looked at Christopher for a long moment, before nodding, seeming to come to a decision. "__Lady Galadriel and I are in need of a messenger__," he told Christopher._

_"__I am yours to command, my Lord__," Christopher bowed as well as he could from a sitting position._

_Lord Celeborn seemed pleased. "__I had hoped that that would be your reply. You have come a long way from the scared and lost elfling that Captain Haldir found wandering about the Golden Wood. You are now a warrior.__" He reached over and gently lifted one of Christopher's braids before letting it fall._

_"__You are to take a message to Imladris, to Lord Elrond and Halbarad of the Dunedain__."_

_Lord Celeborn waited for Christopher's nod, and then continued._

_"__You are to say: "Aragorn has need of his kindred. Let the Dunedain ride to him in Rohan!__"_

_After repeating it several times to ensure that he would remember, Christopher asked the next question._

_"__When do I leave, my Lord__?"_

_"__Tomorrow, and go with all haste__."_

_After a few more words, Christopher excused himself with a bow and left the tree. At the base he found Rumil with Megildur._

_He had been handed his brother and his adar had left, going up to speak with Lord Celeborn. Christopher had immediately gone in search of his sister.)_

* * *

Christopher sighed and got up, stretching his limbs. He came over to his mother.

"Nana, has Ada told you?"

Silmewen turned from her weaving to her son.

"Yes, he has. I do not like it, but no mother would. Take care of yourself, Anessen." Setting her shuttle to the side, she rose and went into the next room.

"Nostariel came by while you were gone with a gift from the Lady."

From a small bag propped in a corner Silmewen drew out a leaf-wrapped cake.

"Lembas!" Christopher exclaimed.

"Yes," his nana replied. "Enough to take you to Imladris and back. I have also packed dried fruit and a small amount of dried meat, and you can hunt, so that you will not have to survive on the Lady's gift alone, however generous it may be."

"Thank you Nana!" In a rare move, for Christopher at any rate (Haldir had been rubbing off), he reached over and hugged her. "I will miss you," he whispered.

"As will I. Come, let us go."

* * *

Christopher stood in the doorway to the talan in which Maggie lay, the pale light of dawn outlining his body. Maggie sat up propped up by pillows with Silmewen by her head.

"Novaer, Muinthel-nín. Farewell, my dear sister," he called softly, before turning and slowly descending the talen. Even before he reached the bottom he could here soft crying from the flet above.

Setting foot on the grass he turned to go, only to find his way blocked by Sarah.

"You'd better have a good reason for this," she told him, arms akimbo.

"Sarah," he began, but she interrupted him.

"No, tell me. Don't skip around the question.

"Lord Celeborn has sent me with a message for Lord Elrond in Imladris concerning Lord Aragorn."

Sarah looked puzzled for a second, and then relaxed. "Let me guess. You're supposed to say that Aragorn has need of his kin, and let the Dunedain ride from the North, or something to that affect?"

Christopher stared at her in open astonishment. She laughed.

"You forget that I read the book."

"Book."

"Yes, book. I'll tell you when you come back. Christopher, once the Rangers assemble, come south with them. I should be with Aragorn at that point. Oh, and Christopher?"

"Yes?"

"Could you find a way for a young elf maid by the name of Ithilwen to come with you?"

Christopher raised a single eyebrow in a very good imitation of Haldir.

"May I ask why?"

Sarah grinned. "You'll find out."

She stepped out of his path, and then into step with him as he headed for the gates. When they reached them, she stopped.

With a wave, both to Sarah and to Rumil, who he knew was watching, Christopher, called Anessen, disappeared into the trees.


	16. Farewell to Lothlorien

(Sarah POV)

Sarah stood up with a yawn. They had spent what seemed like a few days in Lorien. She knew intellectually that the time had been much longer, as Maggie was almost completely healed. Once the shock was gone, Sarah had actually scolded her rather badly about putting herself in the way of weapons. First the knife, now the club. Aragorn had come to them that morning, telling them to pack and get ready to leave.

Sarah sighed. She liked it here, and didn't want to go. It had helped her forget for a while. With another sigh she returned to packing.

* * *

(Maggie POV)

Maggie stood in a line with the rest of the Fellowship as gray-clad elves fastened cloaks about their necks, her own being fastened by Christopher's adopted mother, Silmewen. It was still profoundly weird to think of him – not as the small seven-year-old that she had left – but as the tall young elf, only a year younger than her.

"…unfriendly eyes." Drat! She had completely missed what Lord Celeborn was saying. She went to shake her head, and barely stopped herself. She often forgot that only her family and her best friends were not offended by her shaking her head at them. It was probably not a good idea to do so at one of the last elven Lords. Belatedly Maggie realized that Lord Celeborn was speaking again.

"Come, dine with us once before you take your leave."

They trooped after him.

As they drew near the swan-ship, where they were to dine, they heard a clear voice singing. Maggie only caught the tail end of the song, but from that she recognized her mom's favorite.

"But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me,  
What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?"

Lady Galadriel laid aside her harp as the company boarded the ship. The meal passed in a blur for Maggie. It was so peaceful, though there were several harps and flutes playing, and much talking. Maggie found herself wanting to talk less and think more, both of which seemed to worry Sarah. Honestly, she didn't understand, it wasn't like she didn't know what happened. All too soon, the meal came to a close.

Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel lead them to three boats, all laden with their various bags, as well as some additions, like lembas and rope. Merry and Pippin found out the properties of the former the hard way.

Maggie stifled a laugh as they a multiple waifers. They sat heavily in their boat, both getting used to the motion of the watercraft, and also letting their two large meals settle.

Legolas's face lit up as he saw the leaf-wrapped food. "Lembas!" he exclaimed. "Elvish waybread. One small bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man." He turned away to inspect the contents of his own and Gimli's boat. Somehow, over the course of the stay, those two had become fast friends, though they hadn't given up insulting each other at every opportunity.

"How many did you eat?" Merry asked Pippin when he judged that Legolas was out of earshot.

"Four," Pippin answered with a small burb.

Maggie saw Legolas give a small smile. She leaned over to the terrible two. "Elves have super hearing," she whispered. Both blushed a bright red.

"Come," Aragorn got their attention, coming up from talking to Aragorn. "The Lady has summoned us." He stepped into Maggie's boat as Legolas helped Sam and Frodo in as well. In the next boat over, Sarah sat in the prow with Legolas and Gimli behind her. Boromir heaved himself in to the last boat, already containing Merry and Pippin.

Dipping their paddles in the water, Legolas, Boromir, and Aragorn directed the boats towards the opposite shore, a little ways down the Celebrant. Waiting for them was Galadriel. Strong arms reached down and lifted first Maggie, then Frodo and Sam out of the boat.

"Thank you, Strider," she said to the owner of the arms.

The Fellowship stood in a line before Lady Galadriel to receive the gifts she had prepared for them.

"My gift for you, Legolas," she began, "is a bow of the Galadhrim, worthy of the skill of our woodland kin."

Legolas ran his hand up and down the length of the bow, and bowed his head. "Hannon le," he replied, "Thank you."

She handed Merry and Pippin two elegant daggers. "These are the daggers of the Noldori. They have already seen service in war." Pippin looked up, and swallowed hard. "Do not fear, young Peregrin Took," she told him gently, "you will find your courage."

Next was Sam. "For you, little gardener and lover of trees, I have only a small gift." She gave him a little plain grey box with a silver G-rune on the lid. "In this box is set earth from my orchard, and such blessing as I have still to bestow is upon it. It will not keep you on your road, nor defend you against any peril; but if you keep it and see our home again at last, then perhaps it may reward you."

Lady Galadriel now stood before Gimli, who had his head bowed. "And what gift would a dwarf ask of the Elves?" she inquired.

"Nothing," Gimli said gruffly. Now he looked up. "Except to look upon the Lady of the Galadhrim one last time, for she is fairer than all the jewels beneath the earth."

Galadriel laughed merrily, and Gimli started to turn away, growing red under his beard, but then he paused. "Actually, there was one thing." He started mumbling, and Galadriel smiled, and then moved on to Sarah, but not before speaking quietly with a maiden behind her.

"My gift for you, Sarah Hodgson, is a healing cordial, made from the waters of Lorien in Valinor. It will give your friends relief in times of great pain. One drop will heal any wound." Galadriel handed Sarah a red belt with a small crystal flask hanging in a pouch from it, filled with a clear liquid. Sarah fingered the stopper, and then fastened it to her waist, slipping her dagger onto her left side on the same belt.

"For you, Maggie Rivers, sister of Anessen, I have a small sword, for there are time that you may not be able to use your sling."

She moved on to Aragorn, who was standing next in line after the Ringbearer. "I have nothing greater to give than the gift you already bear." She reached up a hand and touched the jewel around the Dunedain's neck. She continued in elvish, and Aragorn replied in the same language. Towards the end she handed him a beautiful scabbard, entwined with runes and golden flowers.

When Lady Galadriel moved onto Frodo she spoke no word, just handed him a clear phial, filled with a white light. Frodo gave her a slight nod, and she bent down and kissed him gently on the top of his head.

The Fellowship then took their leave, once again climbing into their boats, and as the current carried them away Lady Galadriel once again took up her harp and sang, this time in Quenya.

"_Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen,  
yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!  
Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier  
mi oromardi lisse-miruvóreva  
Andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar  
nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni  
ómaryo airetári-lírinen._

_Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?_

_An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo_  
_ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë,_  
_ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë;_  
_ar sindanóriello caita mornië_  
_i falmalinnar imbë met, ar hísië_  
_untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë._  
_Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!_

_Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar._  
_Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië!"_

She raised one hand in farewell, and the Fellowship rounded the corner, turning into the Anduin. It was the last time that Maggie ever saw Lothlorien, the dream-flower.


	17. Row Row Row Your Boat

(Sarah POV)

As they turned into the Anduin, Gimli spoke, mostly to Legolas.

"I have taken my worst wound at this parting," he declared, "having looked my last upon that which is fairest. Henceforth I will call nothing fair unless it be her gift to me."

"What was her gift?" Legolas asked. Sarah was curious as well, she knew what it was, but she wondered how Lady Galadriel had gotten it to him, as she hadn't seen her cut any hair.

"I asked her for one hair from her golden head," Gimli told them. "She gave me three."

Sarah turned to ask how, and then thought better of it when she saw Gimli's face. She turned back around, and watched the water slip by.

* * *

The dark trees towered on each side, giving off an atmosphere of watchful wariness. Sarah found herself constantly looking over her shoulder constantly. Before long they came to a place where the bank sloped down gently to meet the water's edge. Aragorn directed his boat towards this place.

"We stop here for the night," he called over his shoulder as he did so.

The boats were surprisingly easy to pull up to the bank. Legolas was able to do theirs singlehandedly, while Gimli and Sarah grabbed a couple of the bags. They joined the other's further up the sandy beach. Pippin and Merry had already started a fire, and Sam had begun to break out his pots and pans. Sarah was walking around aimlessly when her hand was grabbed and she was dragged into the trees.

"Maggie!" Sarah all but shouted.

"Shh!" her friend hushed, "be quiet!"

"What are you doing?" Sarah hissed, this time softly.

"I need to talk to you without the Fellowship over hearing."

"About what?" Sarah was a bit calmer, but still annoyed.

Maggie looked around nervously before pulling Sarah down so that she could whisper in her ear.

"Boromir."

Sarah straightened up, startled. "Boromir? What about him?"

"Sh! Not so loud!" Maggie looked panicked for a moment, before relaxing slightly.

Sarah sighed. "Alright, what about him?"

Maggie echoed the noise and plopped on the ground, patting the bracken beside her prompting Sarah to sit down beside her.

"It's Amon Hen," she began. Sarah stiffened.

In her mind's eye she pictured the scene from the movie. Arrow after arrow slammed into her friend's torso. What had before been an only slightly sad scene now made her want to curl up in a little ball and sob. Suddenly she realized what Maggie was getting at.

"I agree."

Maggie blinked. "Huh?" she asked intelligently.

"If you're saying," Sarah answered, "That we need to save Boromir, then I agree, canon be darned."

"Good. I was afraid that you would take a lot of convincing."

There was silence for a moment, and then Maggie began to speak again. "Speaking of Boromir, he's been starting to stare at me for long whiles."

Sarah gave her a sharp look. "It's started?"

Maggie nodded. "Yeah. He keeps paddling up closer to us when we're in the boats, and Pippin mentioned him muttering under his breath to himself."

"I'll talk to him," Sarah promised. "So, what are we going to do at Amon Hen? I don't want Boromir to fall."

"Neither do I," agreed Maggie, "but I do need to go to Mordor," she shuddered, "and I can't have the whole Fellowship trooping after me!"

Sarah thought for just a moment. "Even with all your knowledge," she said slowly, "you're going to need help, and Frodo and Sam deserve to go with you, after all that happened in the book, even if it hasn't yet, and won't, for some of it, they deserve to go with you."

Maggie nodded. "I agree. And that leaves you free to keep Boromir alive. Speaking of that, how _are_ we going to do that? It's not like we can keep him away from battle."

There was a long silence while thought how to do it. Suddenly Maggie jumped up excitedly and started pacing in a circle around Sarah.

"Eureka!" she exclaimed, abet quietly. "I got it!" Kneeling down again, she whispered the plan into Sarah's ear. As she did so, her friend's smile got broader and broader.

"We can do it, we can really do it!" she whispered.

* * *

The next few days passed quietly. There was a discussion on how long they had stayed in Lothlorien, where Frodo made know a fact that should have remained hidden, but other than that, it was uneventful. The next exciting thing happened about a week after leaving the Golden Wood. They had once again camped on the side of the river, and Sarah was trying to convince Maggie to eat.

"Come on, Mags. Sam made this just for you."

"I'm not hungry."

Sarah sighed and came to sit beside her on the rock. "Maggie," she said.

"I'm not hungry, okay?" Maggie snapped, and then immediately look guilty. "Sorry."

Sarah put her arm around her. "It's starting, isn't it?" she asked.

"It's been 'starting' as you put it, for several days. Almost since we left Lorien," Maggie told her. "There's not much that you can do, except take It, and that's _not_ going to happen."

"There is something you can do," Sarah insisted. "You can start by keeping up your strength, and you can start that by eating that soup Sam made you, and sleeping at night like a normal human being, or hobbit."

With a small smile, Maggie accepted the bowl from Sarah, though she made no move to eat, except to pick up the spoon and start stirring it thoughtfully.

"That's just the thing," she said after a long moment, "when I sleep, I get dreams, awful dreams of something happening at home, ones of Mom being… held… in Barad-dur, and how all that could end if I just used It."

"Oh Maggie." Sarah gave her friend a hug. They sat like that for a long while. Half an hour later Maggie's head started getting very heavy on Sarah's shoulder, and she realized that her friend had fallen asleep. She gently took the bowl from her hands, and then looked up to see if she could find anyone of man-size to help her movie Maggie from the rock where they were sitting. She caught Legolas's eye as he walked between the boats, transferring baggage.

With a small smile, he came over and gently lifted the hobbit out of Sarah's embrace and laid her down next to her pack. Sarah came over and draped a blanket over her form, tucking it in around the edges. Setting the soup down by her head she left her, heading over to where the rest of the Fellowship was sitting around Sam's small fire. A quick glance around showed her that both Pippin and Boromir were missing from the group. Another quick glance found Pippin snoring against a tree, and Boromir's foot peeking out from behind a boulder. After accepting her soup from Sam, she grabbed another bowl for him and walked over to where he was sitting.

He was bent over, looking down at the ground, his face twisted in an odd shape.

"Are you alright?" Sarah asked, as she set his bowl down in front of him.

He looked up at her, and she saw that his face was contorted not in anger, as she had first thought, but in the shapes that one makes when one is trying desperately not to cry.

"Boromir?" Sarah said, a little startled. Of all those in the Fellowship, Boromir was the last she'd thought would cry.

With a great effort, he seemed to swallow back the sobs that threatened to break out, and to compose himself.

"Yes," he replied, picking up the soup with his hands. A moment passed. "No."

Sarah leaned against the boulder and slid down to a sitting position next to him. "If it helps to talk, I'm here to listen," she said simply.

Boromir took a deep breath and several bites of soup before he began to speak. He started with a question. "Aragorn is Man, is he not, or am I the only one who thinks of him as such?"

Sarah's eyes widened. She was pretty sure that Aragorn and Boromir had just had their little spat, and was also pretty sure where this line of questioning was going.

"Yes…" she answered slowly.

"Then why does he have so little faith in the strength of his own people?" Boromir asked. "I have always thought, and still I believe Gondor to be a great city, a beautiful one, the tower of the Sun glinting in the morning light, the clear ringing of silver trumpets, keeping all the lands about free, a bulwark of the West, and now all I meet think nothing of it. Aragorn told me he would not lead the Company within a hundred leagues of _my_ city. Not our city, the city that he goes to be king of, but mine only."

Sarah wasn't quite sure what to say. Boromir had a point, though he was recounting Aragorn's words slightly differently than she remembered them.

"I think…" she began slowly, "I think that Aragorn spoke out of anger, or fear. You do realize that he does not," she stopped abruptly, realizing that what she was about to say wasn't the best thing.

"Does not," Boromir prompted.

"Never mind," Sarah told him, "ignore that. I guess what I'm say is you both have a point. Aragorn should have more faith in Gondor and the race of Men, but I do not believe that Minas Tirith is the best rout." She held up a hand as Boromir made to interrupt. "Hear me out. To go to Gondor only delays the inevitable, and allows the Enemy time to gain strength. If we take the direct route to Mordor we can get there quickly, hopefully before he even realizes that there are ten people traipsing through his land." She paused. "Or nine, if you end up going to Gondor."

"That is my intention," Boromir confirmed with a nod. Already he looked a lot better. It was a relief to Sarah. No one likes to see men that they look on as older brothers cry, especially if that man is a warrior that you expect to be always strong.

Casting about for a completely different topic of conversation, Sarah pointed up at the stars overhead. They were much brighter than the ones at home, and there were more, it took some getting used to at first – it was so bright at night. "What's that one?" she asked of Boromir in reference to a rather distinctive constellation.

"Remmirath," he replied, "the netted stars."

"And that one?"

"Anarríma, the Sun-border."

And so it went on, until Boromir found himself with a lap-full of sleeping girl.

* * *

"Sing us something of your home, would you?" Frodo asked the ninth day of their journey down the Anduin. For once, all three boats were close to each other, not stretched out as they often were.

"Yes! Please do!" all of the other male hobbits echoed him.

"Err…" Maggie and Sarah looked at each other. "Um…"

"What manner of songs do they sing in America?" Gimli asked Sarah, as she was his boat with him.

Maggie looked at Sarah. "It looks like you're going to have to sing," she told her, "unless you want to subject the whole of the Fellowship to my voice." She grinned.

Sarah vehemently shook her head. Her mind went back to that awful day when Maggie had decided to try out for the part of Cosette in the school's Les Mis play. She ended up on the light crew, as far away from the singing as the manager could get her.

"What should I sing?" she asked.

Maggie thought for a moment. "Blessings," she finally said. "It's one of the ones you can sing best."

All except Aragorn and Boromir, who were busy paddling slightly in front, looked at Sarah expectantly. Said girl took a deep breath, and then began to sing.

"We pray for blessings  
We pray for peace  
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep  
We pray for healing, for prosperity  
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering  
All the while, You hear each spoken need  
Yet love is way too much to give us lesser things  
'Cause what if your blessings come through raindrops  
What if Your healing comes through tears  
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You're near  
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise  
We pray for wisdom  
Your voice to hear  
We cry in anger when we cannot feel You near  
We doubt your goodness, we doubt your love  
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough  
All the while, You hear each desperate plea  
And long that we'd have faith to believe  
When friends betray us  
When darkness seems to win  
We know that pain reminds this heart  
That this is not our home  
What if my greatest disappointments  
Or the aching of this life  
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy  
What if trials of this life  
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights  
Are your mercies in disguise."

There was silence for a moment. Sarah had a nice singing voice, though nothing very spectacular, and the song was a pretty one. It was predictably Pippin who broke the quiet.

"It was very beautiful," he complimented. "What is it about?"

"It's a prayer to God," Maggie explained, "Eru Iluvatar He is called here, I think."

Legolas, Sam, Aragorn, Frodo, and Boromir nodded their understanding. Gimli, Merry, and Pippin looked a little lost, though any questions that they might have had were put off the Aragorn looking up.

Two great statues stood there, two men, two great kings of stone. The left hand of each was raised in a gesture of warning on the borders of Gondor as it once was. Each right hand grasped an axe. On their heads were set crumbling helms and crowns. As they passed by them, born along by the swirling water, Sarah saw that the little toe of one was as long as the boat she was sitting in. An awestruck fear fell on her, and in Aragorn's boat she saw Sam hunkering down.

"Behold the Argonath!" Aragorn cried aloud. "Keep the boats in a line, and as far apart as you can! Hold to the middle of the stream!"

A look of wonder was on Boromir's face as he gazed at the likenesses, as it was on all of them, though their attention was soon drawn elsewhere. A strange voice came from Aragorn's boat.

"Fear not!" it said, "Long have I desired to look upon the likenesses of Isildur and Anárion, my sires of old. Under their shadow Elessar, the Elfstone son of Arathorn of the House of Valandil Isildur's son, heir of Elendil, has naught to dread!"

Boromir could not now say that Aragorn was not fit to be a king. A light was in his eyes, a wind blew his dark hair back from his face, and there was a kingly look about him, very different from the Strider of Bree, or the weathered man of Rivendell.

They passed through the Gates of Kings and into the wide lake, directing their boats to the shore of Amon Hen, the Hill of Sight.


	18. Bitter Farwells

(Maggie)

They drew their boats up to the bank and hopped out, taking most of their baggage with them. The air seemed heavier than normal – everyone knew that this was their last stop before they continued to Mordor. As they began to make camp upon the greensward Strider began to talk, telling the rest of the group what to expect.

"We cross the lake at nightfall, hide the boats, and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the north."

Gimli looked up from where he was filling his pipe. "Oh, yes?" he asked rhetorically. "It's just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil? An impassable labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks! And after that, it gets even better!" Maggie rolled her eyes. Did he _want _to make them feel hopeless? "Festering, stinking marshlands far as the eye can see," he finished up.

Sarah leaned down a bit to whisper in Maggie's ear. "He should have been named 'Barnabas'."

Maggie snorted.

Strider gave Gimli a sharp look of warning, though when he spoke, his voice was mild. "That is our road." He clapped Gimli on the shoulder before continuing. "I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf."

As Maggie moved off, she heard Gimli splutter indigently, the only words she caught being 'recover' and 'grr'. She gave a small smile.

Sarah walked over to where Legolas and Strider where having a conversation, while Maggie went to where they kept the extra lembas and began to put some in her pack. She was soon joined by Sam, also doing the same thing.

"I was thinking we might be off soon," he said rather apologetically.

Maggie nodded at him. "I was too." She glanced at the far bank. "I don't like the look of those trees."

"Me neither," Sam agreed. "They give me the shivers." He sighed heavily. "I suppose we'll have to go through them tonight."

Before Maggie could reply, they were interrupted by Sarah, who had come up rather quietly behind them.

"Maggie?" she asked.

Maggie glanced up at her. "Almost," she told her friend.

Sarah nodded, and then wandered over to where the blankets were piled and started to fold one into a small bundle.

The two girls worked together in companionable silence. After a while, almost everyone was dozing, smoking, or otherwise busy with their respective tasks. Sarah gave the strap holding the flap of the bag down a sharp tug, and tied it in a neat bow.

"There," she said, and then sighed. Stirred by a sudden impulse most girls have, Maggie threw her arms around her friend.

"I'll miss you," she whispered into Sarah's shoulder.

"Me too," Sarah whispered back. "Now go!"

Breaking the hug, Sarah wandered over to where Pippin and Gimli were talking. Maggie starred at Sarah's retreating back for a second, and then, with a glance around to make sure that no one was watching, she vanished into the trees, leaving her pack leaning against a tree.

* * *

After walking for a very short distance, still within hearing of the camp, Maggie sat down with her back to a large tree. She didn't have to wait long. Soon Frodo's voice drifted back from the water's edge, quickly followed by Merry's.

"Where is Maggie?"

"I don't know?"

There was a pause, and then a babble of voices arose. A loud snap of a stick was heard, presumably made by someone heading off in search of her. Sarah's voice suddenly rang out.

"Wait!"

Another's, Maggie thought it was Strider's, came quickly after it. "What is it?"

"Shouldn't we leave someone here, in case she comes back?"

Another pause.

"Merry, Pippin!" suddenly Strider gave a loud shout. No answering cries came back. He shouted again, though this time he called different names. "Sam, Frodo!"

This time Sam's voice came in reply. "Strider?"

"I want you both to stay here in case Maggie returns. Sarah, stay close to me."

A few more snaps of twigs faded into the distance as Sarah and Strider went in search of Maggie. Another few moments, and Sarah's face appeared around a bush.

"Maggie!" She threw her arms around her best friend.

"Sarah," Maggie replicated the gesture. They stood there for a moment, and then broke apart. Sarah's hands when to around her neck and undid the clasp of a small neckless she had worn there ever since the movie premier.

"Here, take this," she said, and fastened it around Maggie's neck. It was a small flower, orange in color, on a silver chain. "Come back, please," she said, a tear making its way down her face.

Maggie nodded wordlessly, and then regained her voice. "Don't let him die, Sarah. Keep him alive."

"I will."

The two friends embraced again, and then Maggie turned and ran towards the nearly deserted camp.

She emerged through the trees, almost crashing, being very noisy for a hobbit.

Frodo started up in surprise as she appeared. "Maggie!" he cried. His eyes widened was she scooped up her pack and tossed in a boat, along with a coil of the rope that Sam had admired.

"Where are you going?" he asked, as she began to push it off the bank.

"To Mordor," was the answer.

"Maggie," he said, in a voice that brooked no argument, "wait a moment."

She turned around slowly.

"Maggie," he continued, this time more softly. "I promised you, that day at the council, that I would go with you. I'm not going to back out on that promise now. You are, as you two say, stuck with me."

Maggie smiled, and then pulled him into a hug. "Thank you," she whispered. It wasn't acting. Part of the plan she and Sarah hand come up with was, while they might be manipulating some circumstances, they would not force any member of the Fellowship to do anything. It was Frodo's choice to come or not, as it was Sam's. Speaking of Sam…

As Frodo turned to go grab his pack, his faithful servant, who had been listening to the exchange, had already located and picked up both his and Frodo's pack.

Frodo sighed. "Sam, we're going to Mordor alone."

"Course you are," Sam told him. "And I'm coming with you."

Maggie gave the first real grin that she had in days as Sam continued.

"I made a promise, Mr. Frodo. A promise: 'Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee', and I don't mean to!"

Frodo now smiled as well. "Well, come along then, Sam, we had better leave."

The three hobbits finished loading up the boats with the various packs and food that they would need, and then pushed off the bank, Frodo sitting in the rear, as he had the most watercraft practice. Sam remained in the middle, clutching the sides.

Maggie forced herself not to look back as they beached the boat and continued up the shore. She did not want to know if Sarah had failed here half of the plan.

* * *

(Sarah POV)

Sarah watched her friend vanish into the trees and blinked back tears. They _would_ see each other again, it would just be a couple months. It was February now, and the war ended the twenty-fifth of March, so it was only a month. Only a month. She shook her head. These thoughts were not going to save Boromir. Turning on her heel, she ran up the slope, trying to find the place that he had confronted Frodo in the movie.

She found him by bumping into him, literally. He was wandering around with a small stack of firewood in his arms and an odd look on his face. Sarah was running up the hill, but staring at the ground so that she wouldn't trip. It was futile, though it wasn't a root she tripped on, rather Boromir's foot.

They both toppled over, the wood thankfully missing both their heads, bouncing off a tree as it sailed over them.

Sarah let out a surprised 'oomph' as the full weight of Boromir landed on top of her. After a brief scramble, they managed to right themselves. There was an awkward moment, and then Boromir spoke, breaking the silence.

"Forgive me," he said, "I was not watching where I was going."

Sarah waved a hand, "Its fine, I should have been more careful." She bent down and started to pick up the wood that had gone flying, trying to think of the best way to tell Boromir he was supposed to die, and that she was going to try and save him.

She was startled out of her thoughts by their subject.

"Have you see Maggie?" he asked, rather nonchalantly.

"No," Sarah replied, drawing out the 'o'. "I haven't, not very recently."

Boromir raised his eyebrow, Sarah was a really bad liar.

"Indeed?" he asked.

Sarah, instead of replying, tried to direct the conversation to a safer topic. "Boromir," she began, glancing up at the addressed, and then stopped.

There was a light in his eyes, one that she did not entirely like.

"Where is Maggie?" he demanded again, stepping closer.

"Boromir!" Sarah exclaimed in alarm, taking a step back and bumping into a tree.

Boromir advanced again and grasped her shoulders. "Where is Maggie?! I must find her!" He started to shake her.

"Boromir! Stop! You're scaring me!" Sarah cried, trying to beat him off with her hands. This was not how she and Maggie had envisioned 'Operation Save Boromir' going.

Boromir suddenly let go of Sarah as if he had been electrocuted. "What have I done?" he asked, staring at his hands.

Sarah slumped against the tree, staring at Boromir. Movement from behind him caught her eye, and she gave a shout.

"Look out!"

On instinct, Boromir drew his sword and turned, just in time to cut off the head of and advancing Uruk. There were three more bearing down on the two humans.

Parrying a blow from the first, Boromir shouted at Sarah. "Run! Sarah run!" Whirling around, he dispatched the second Uruk with a stab through the stomach. "There's a letter in my bag!" he yelled. Another duck, another swing. "Go to Edoras!" A stab and a slice, an orc head rolled on the forest floor.

Now there was only one left. As Boromir yelled for her to run for a third time, Sarah yelled back at him though her tears, doing her best to keep him alive. "Boromir, watch out for arrows, you're shot! Please!"

With a nod, Boromir moved into engage the final Uruk. As he did so, five more appeared over the ridge.

"Run!" came the call one more time.

Through blinding tears, Sarah stumbled away down the hill.

* * *

In a surprisingly short time she reached the camp. It was deserted. There were two boats, and three of the packs were missing. As she looked out across the lake, she could see the small shape of an elven boat about halfway across the blue expanse of water.

Glancing around, she located Boromir's pack lying propped up on his shield. Kneeling down beside it, she began to poke around, finally coming up with a thick piece of parchment. Written on it in bold letters was the word '**Eowyn**'.


	19. The End of the First Part

(Maggie POV)

The small trio entered the woods on the eastern bank of the Anduin. The slopes of Amon Law loomed up before them, looking much less inviting than Amon Hen had. With a bit of a sigh, Frodo began to lead the way up the rocky slope. Maggie and Sam followed him. They walked in silence, passing like shadows up the hill. About half way to the summit, they paused, resting with their backs to a large tree, one of the few that they had come across. It was near suppertime, and already the sun was making its way out of the sky on their left.

Sam dug some of the lembas cakes out of his pack before resting it against a small boulder. He broke them into pieces before passing them to Maggie and Frodo. The unnaturally still air was filled with the sounds of quiet munching. They were soon finished. Maggie licked the last crumbs off of her fingers, groaned, and stretched. Slinging their packs on their shoulders, the three began the last bit of climb to reach the top.

As they crested the ridge, a wind that had so far been sheltered by the hill picked up their Lorien cloaks and blew them back gently. The sky was already dark, and in the distance loomed the tall, distant black walls of Mordor. Dark clouds hung heavy about it, flashes of red light from Mt. Doom glancing off of them like sudden burst of lightening. All in all the sight filled the hearts of the hobbits with foreboding.

Frodo spoke, breaking the silence they had kept since crossing the river.

"Mordor," he said. "I hope the others find a safer road."

Maggie thought of poor Merry and Pippin, and the Uruk-hai, and Sarah. And Boromir. Did Sarah succeed? She didn't know.

"Strider will look after them," Sam replied, looking at the distant mountains.

"I don't think I'll ever see her-them again," Maggie said, a tear rolling down her cheek. It was true, she didn't know what would happen. So many things had changed.

"We may yet, Maggie," Frodo told her.

Sam echoed him, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We may."

Maggie blinked back her tears and turned to the two. Two hobbits from the Shire who ought never to have gotten mixed up in this mess. She shouldn't have either. By rights she should be sitting at home, reading a book or playing a board game with Christopher. Christopher. She missed him. She sighed.

"I'm glad you guys are here with me," she told them, and she meant it.

* * *

**Thus ends part one of Strangers From a Distant Land**


	20. Beorn and His Family

With a heavy heart Sarah packed her bag, taking about half of the remaining lembas. Though she felt that she was invading his privacy, she also removed the thick packet addressed to Eowyn from Boromir's bag and placed it in her own. Upon finishing, she shouldered her pack and began to scramble around the slope of Amon Hen. The rocky cliffs on either side of the river dropped steeply next to the giant water fall, but further inland they began to be a gentler slope, and it was here that Sarah found great steps cut into the rock. Just like Rauros looked like it had been scooped out with a giant's hand, the steps looked like they had been made for the same giant to make his way up and down. They were not easy to navigate for a tall man of Gondor, and they were even less easy for Sarah, who stood at least two heads shorter than Boromir.

Sitting down on her bottom, she was just about to begin the over-sized game of bump-down-the-stairs when the deep trumpet of an ox horn rang out behind her from further up the slopes of the hill.

"Boromir!" she shouted. She started to scramble up again, but Boromir's words to her filled her mind.

_"Sarah! Go to Edoras! There's a letter in my pack! Go! Please!"_

With tears making the world blurry, she made it down the first step, and then another, and another, until she reached the foot. The horn rang out one more time. All was then silent, save for the unceasing pounding of the waterfall to her left.

"Go to Edoras," Sarah muttered under her breath as she wiped her bleeding hand on the grass. "Go to Edoras, he said. Which way's Edoras?"

Deliberately turning her back on the river, Sarah squatted down and slipped her pack from her shoulders. Careful to keep her left hand elevated, she stuck her right into her bag and felt around for the map that she had brought. She let out a quiet 'aha!' of triumph as her fingers touched the hard corner of a piece of parchment that had been folded many times. Drawing it out, she spread it on the ground. She was about to find her current location when she remembered her finger.

One old rag latter, she had pinpointed her approximate location – somewhere near the base of Amon Hen. Tracing her finger in a line across the drawn fields of Rohan, she quickly found the dot that marked Edoras. She looked up. The sun was directly in front of her, so that meant that she had to travel towards it until she reached the mountains, and then she would take a left. Simple. She snorted. Simple, when her whole world was being turned on its head?

With a sigh Sarah refolded the map, adjusted her make-shift bandage, shouldered her pack, and started west.

* * *

After about an hour of squinting into the sun she sat down on the long, wavy grass to eat her diner, or rather, her elven-bread.

"I am going to be so sick of this in a while," Sarah said aloud to the lembas, mainly to hear her own voice. The only answer was the faint roar of the pounding water and the swish of the wind through the grass. She was completely alone for the first time since coming to Middle-earth. Merry and Pippin were being carried off by Uruks to Isenguard, Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, and hopefully Boromir (no, don't even go there, her mind told itself, no hopefully allowed, he is there) were chasing after them, Maggie, Frodo, and Sam were off to Mordor, Christopher was delivering the summons of the Dunedain, and Grace was waiting in Rivendell. For the first time since coming to Middle-earth, Sarah was alone.

With a start she realized that she had been staring at the wafer for a full five minutes without eating. She quickly took a bite and swallowed it down. Finishing the bread, she took a sip of her water and stood up. With a yawn, a stretch, and a groan, she once again began to plod towards the west, squinting her eyes to block the glare of the sun and wishing for sunglasses.

* * *

After another two hours, a short rest, and then another hour the sun began to disappear behind the tall Eryd Wethryn, the White Mountains of Gondor. Sarah followed the faint glow for as long as she could, but that too soon vanished. All was dark, save for the many stars overhead, undiluted by city lights.

Digging her blanket out of her bag, she quickly settled down on a make-shift bed, using her pack as a pillow of sorts. Before long she was dead to the world.

* * *

Sarah awoke to a knee in the ribs, an elbow in the ear, and a small, squirming body draped over her.

"Huh?" she asked intelligently as she pushed herself up on her elbows. "Wha?" She raised a hand to wipe the sleep out of her eyes, and then stared. She rubbed her eyes again. She stared some more. There was a child lying across her lap. Why was there a five year old in the middle of no-where. Something was wrong. She yawned. It was too early to deal with this sort of thing.

"Who are you?" the small person asked her. "How did you get here? We did not see you when we made camp. Do you want to talk to Papa?"

Another yawn and another blink later Sarah tried to process the questions and ask a few of her own. "I'm Sarah, I walked, who are you, and who is your 'papa'?"

A huge grin lit the face of the kid. He pushed himself off of Sarah and stood up. "I am Wulf, son of Beorn, at your service," he took a deep bow. "My papa is Beorn, he is in charge of our town. Come on!"

Little Wulf grabbed Sarah's hand and attempted to drag her to her feet.

Sarah laughed. He was so like a little boy in nursery back home. Ian would never stop talking, and though the style of speech was a little different, the mannerisms were not. They could be the same boy, just with different looks, and in different worlds.

"Hang on little guy!" she grinned, pulling her hand out of his grasp. "Let me gather my stuff."

"Can I help?" Wulf asked, jumping up and down in place.

"Sure," Sarah told him. She picked up the blanket that she had been sleeping with and handed him an end. "Hold this, and we'll fold it together."

Packing up took slightly longer than normal, as Sarah tried to keep tabs on Wulf as well, but soon everything that needed to be stowed was stowed. Before she left, Sarah took three large strands of grass, all growing next to each other, and braided them into a loose rope.

"There," she said to herself, "I can find the spot again if I need to." She half thought that little Wulf had wandered off from where ever he belonged, and she would end up have to take him with her. He was very thin looking.

Slinging her pack on her shoulders, Sarah allowed Wulf to drag her of to where he wanted to go. Said boy lead her up out of the fold that she had slept in, a little to her right, and down into another fold of the plain.

"See?!" Wulf declared. "That's where Papa is!"

There were a two campfires and one tent down the slope, around which were picketed four horses, three brown and one beautiful black one.

"Come on!" Tugging once on her skirt, Wulf let go of her hand and raced down to the camp, calling out "Papa! Papa!" as he went.

Sarah followed him at a slightly slower pace, tripped on a stone, fell, and rolled down the hill.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!" she mumbled as she bounced down the slope. When she finally stopped moving she just lay there, staring up at the shiny stars dancing around her head. Wait a moment. Wasn't it day time? She blinked, clearing away the imagined stars. A hand swam into her vision. Giving another blink, she reached up and grasped it.

"Thank you!" she told her benefactor as he pulled her to her feet.

"It was no trouble," the man replied. "I am Beorn."

"I'm Sarah, Sarah Hodgson." Sarah dropped a little curtsy, and then immediately regretted it. That hurt!

"A pleasure to meet you, Sarah," Beorn told her. "If I may ask, where might you be going? You are rather young to be traveling through Rohan without a guide or brother."

Sarah thought quickly. The truth, but not the whole truth. That's what she tell him.

"I did have several guides," she said, "and my friends. We were traveling to Edoras, but orcs of the White Hand attacked us, and we were split up. I do not know where the others are, but one of them told me to run, and so I did. I hope that he and the other will make it to Edoras, and I will meet them there."

Beorn's face softened. "I and my family are traveling to Helm's Deep, Lord Eomer has given the order to withdraw from these lands. You may travel with us, if you wish, and then make your way to Edoras from there."

"Thank you!" Sarah was extremely grateful. Now she wouldn't be trying to vaguely guess in which direction she should head.

"Come," Beorn told her, jerking his head towards the camp. "I shall introduce you to my family." He began to walk towards the nearest campfire, over which hung a large pot. Sarah followed him.

Wrapping an arm around the woman stirring it, Beorn introduced her as his wife, Freya. With a smile, Freya called Wulf over to stir while she took Sarah inside the tent.

Once they entered the cloth-covered dwelling place, Sarah saw many blankets spread about the floor. A few saddlebags were leaned against the tent poll, and there two women sitting in the middle, the older on braiding the younger one's hair. They were introduced to Sarah as Eda, the daughter of Déor, Beorn's brother, and Sigrid, wife of Déor.

Eda was very friendly, claiming Sarah as soon as Freya had finish explaining who Sarah was, and that she would be traveling with them.

"Come and help me fold the blankets," she invited her, leading the way to where the pile was heaped. Sarah followed her and soon they were working together, turning the large rectangles of cloth into much smaller rectangles of cloth.

"It is good to have another girl my age," Eda told her, as they folded. "How many winters have you seen?"

"Fourteen," Sarah replied, "Though my birthday's not until summer. How old are you?"

Eda looked puzzled for a moment, and then grinned. "I do not know to the day, but I was born during the winter, mama says, and I have seen twelve of them."

"Oh! You're the same age as my sister, then."

"You have a sister?" Eda glanced around, almost as if she was expecting said sister to jump out from behind a corner.

"Not here!" Sarah laughed. "She is in Rivendell, an elven refuge on the borders of the Misty Mountains."

Now poor Eda looked really confused. "You are elves?"

"No! Look." Sarah brushed her hair away from her head, exposing her rounded ear. It was then that she noticed how very long it was getting – it used to only touch her shoulders, now it came down to her shoulder blades. Eda also noticed it, though not the difference in length.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed. "Here, sit down." Once her new friend was situated, Eda ran to fetch the comb her mother had been using earlier, tugging it out from where it had been stowed in a saddle bag.

Within moments it was being run through Sarah's tangles, pulling out the snarls, and generally making it more presentable. A few minutes later it was lying abandoned on the dirt while Eda pulled Sarah's now-neat hair into a tight French-braid.

Eda was just finishing off the last part when her mother, Sigrid, poked her head in through the flap.

"Are you finish, Eda?" she asked. "We are going to leave very soon, the sun is already high in the sky."

"Just a moment, Mama," Eda called back, "We are almost done."

The head was withdrawn, and Eda finished tying the braid with a small strip of leather.

"Thank you!" Sarah told her, patting her head. "It feels so much lighter."

Eda grinned. "You are welcome, it should. Now come, we had best get out of this tent before Magorinc and Wulf take it down over our heads!"

With laughter, though Sarah's was more subdued, the two girls picked up the last of the saddlebags and exited the tent.

* * *

After a very quick breakfast of porridge while Beorn and Déor took down the tent, the group of eight climbed atop their horses. As there was no horse to spare for Sarah, and they could not wait for her to follow on foot pace, she rode behind Eda. During the course of the morning she was introduced to the last member of the small family, Wulf's seventeen year old brother, Magorinc. Magorinc was very quiet, if he talked at all it was to his horse, a beautiful black mare. He was very fond of her, Eda informed Sarah. She was the opposite of her cousin, more like Wulf than anyone else. Black horses where almost extinct in Rohan, as raiders from the Black Land (she shuddered) often crossed the Great River on raids and carried them off. Sela was one of the few left in the land, having spent most of her time in the house, or in the middle of the herd where she couldn't be reached.

The group stopped briefly at noon, both to rest their horses and to eat the bread that Freya passed around. They then mounted their horses once more, though this time, when Beorn found that Sarah could manage a horse, if not as well as Eda, at least well enough to get by, he placed Wulf with her for the afternoon, and had Eda ride with her cousin, so as to spare Eda's horse for a while.

In this way two days passed, until they reached the river of Entwash.


	21. Emyn Muil

(Maggie POV)

The mist swirled around at the base of the cliff. Maggie gulped. It looked an awful long way down. Slowly she backed away from the edge. Taking deep breaths, she steadied herself against a near-by rock.

Frodo gave her a sympathetic look, and then glanced down himself. Sam was already as far back as he could get, a bit green about the gills, as it were.

"We might be able to do it if we had a bit of rope," Frodo observed. "It would depend on how long it was, though."

Sam slapped himself on his forehead, a gesture that he had picked up from Sarah. "Rope!" he cried. "Well, if I don't deserved to be hung on the end of one as a warning to numbskulls! You're nowt but a ninnyhammer, Sam Gamgee: that's what the Gaffer said to me often enough, it be a word of his. Rope!"

Jumping up in the air, Sam ran to where his pack was still leaning against a little bit of shrub, fumbled with the ties, and yanked out a coil, all the while muttering about his Gaffer, ninnyhammers, and his poor memory. Maggie felt inclined to chuckle.

Very soon said rope was tied around a convenient rock, and Frodo was halfway down. Visibly gulping, Sam followed. Maggie peered anxiously over the edge.

Sam glanced up at her, and then down at Frodo and the mists obscuring the base. "Can you see the bottom?" he called.

"No!" Frodo called back, his voice faint. "Don't look down Sam," he encouraged, "just keep going!"

Suddenly Sam slipped, a rough wooden box falling from his pack. It must have been very dear to him, as he quickly began to panic. "Catch it! Grab it Mr. Frodo!"

Frodo whipped out a hand, tried to grab the falling article, missed his footing, slipped, and fell. Maggie gasped and sized the top of the rope. There was a soft thud, and then Frodo's voice came out of the mist, followed soon by his head.

"I think I found the bottom!"

Maggie laughed from pure relief, grabbed the rope, swung her legs over, and quickly followed after Sam. They both reached the bottom quickly and safely. Once her feet were on solid ground once again Maggie heaved a sigh of relief and a prayer of thanks.

"I don't like heights," she stated, rather unnecessarily.

Sam took a deep whiff of the air and scowled. "Bogs and rope and goodness knows what. It's not natural," he insisted. "None of it."

He was torn out of his grumblings by Frodo, now staring at the box that he had caught. "What is in this?" he asked.

Sam shrugged. "Nothing," he replied, "just a bit of seasoning. I thought maybe if we was having a roast chicken one night or something."

Frodo looked as if he was torn between amusement and incredulity. "Roast chicken?"

Maggie giggled. Only Sam. Only Sam.

"You never know," Sam said, a bit defensively.

Frodo smiled fondly. "Sam, my dear Sam."

Maggie began to feel very out of place. These two were best friends, and it was an intimate moment. She felt like she was intruding, like she didn't belong. Her thoughts paused. She was right, she didn't belong. This wasn't her world, and it wasn't here quest, but now it was, and now it _was_ her world. There probably wouldn't be a way to leave, after all, and so she might as well finish the job that she had started. Though she didn't realize it at the time, this short chain of thoughts summed up what had happened to her and her brother. It wasn't, and now it was.

She came back to the current, bleaker world of the Emyn Muil as Frodo was speaking. "We can't leave this here for someone to follow us down!" He tugged the rope gently, emphasizing the point.

"Who's going to follow us down here, Mr. Frodo?" Sam paused, looking mournful. "It's a shame really. I took that from the elf country. Real Elvish rope." He sighed. "Well there's nothing for it. That's one of my knots. Won't come free in a hurry."

Though, as with Sarah, details from the book and movies were growing a bit fuzzy for Maggie, she did remember this part, mainly because they acted it out constantly when playing in the woods together.

"Why don't you give it a tug?" she suggested. "If its 'real elvish rope', as you said, then maybe it might understand you."

Sam looked at the rope consideringly. "It wouldn't hurt," he decided, and gave three strong pulls. With a slithering of string on stone the knot undid itself, the rope slid down, and finally puddled at the base of the cliff. Sam grinned and coiled it up, stowing it in his pack.

* * *

The three hobbits walked for another hour or so before resting and catching a bit of sleep. As had been her habit for the last couple of nights, Maggie tilted her ears behind then and listened intently. There was nothing. No footsteps, at least that she could hear. Then again, the others were making a bit of noise laying out their bedrolls.

"Shh!" she hissed, turning to look at them. "I'm trying to listen."

Frodo laid down his pack and came to stand next to her. "For what?" he asked, looking over her shoulder.

Maggie thought for a second. It wouldn't do to tell him 'Gollum', of course, but she couldn't really be listening to thin air. "I can't shake the feeling that we're being followed," she finally decided.

Frodo looked at her gravely. "You as well?" he sighed, and then continued even more softly, "I believe it to be Gollum, Sam and I saw him on the Anduin." They stood in silence for a while, before they were interrupted.

Both hobbits, Frodo and Maggie, felt a tap on their shoulders. They whirled around, Maggie letting out an exclamation.

"Ahh!"

It was Sam. Looking apologetic, he spoke. "Sorry to interrupt Mr. Frodo, but hadn't we better turn in for the night? It's gettin' late."

Maggie yawned for answer, stretched, and unrolled her blanket. She had no memory of what happened until daylight, unless a stone has a memory, of course.

* * *

The next day dawned foggy, as had all the days before. The air was chilly, and Maggie was glad of the warmth that her cloak provided her. After climbing down the cliff of last night, Frodo, as the one setting their course, lead them through a deep cutting in the rock and up a steep slope. As they finally crested the top of the ridge a flash of red light reflected off of the black clouds above Mordor.

Maggie flinched and grabbed at the Ring dangling over her breast. It was getting heavier, and making it much harder to climb up and down endlessly. If she hadn't 'gotten into shape' on the rest of the journey, she didn't know how she would have managed it.

Sam scowled. "Mordor," he said, sounding very disgruntled, and for a good reason. "The one place in Middle-Earth we don't want to see any closer, and it's the one place we're trying to get to, and just where we can't get neither." He turned to their guide. "Let's face it Mr. Frodo; we're lost. I don't think Gandalf meant for us to come this way."

Maggie briefly wondered what way Gandalf _would_ have wanted them to come. It was just so accepted in her world that they went the way that they did that it was very odd to think of them going a different way. She shrugged. It didn't matter that much. They were going the way that worked, though she wasn't looking forward to the Dead Marshes at all, at all.

Shaking off the thought, she came back to the current world just in time to hear Sam say "did," clearly finishing up what he had been saying.

She stared at the mountains of shadow, the Ephel Dúath. They loomed up before her. Feeling suddenly dizzy, she sat down hard. For a second there, she could have sworn that she saw an Eye. She hoped not. If she saw It, then there was a good chance that It saw her. She shuddered.

Both adult hobbits looked at her in concern, clearly having seen nothing.

"Miss Maggie?" Sam asked.

She shook her head, reaching for her water skin. "Nothing, just thought I saw something."

They nodded, still looking at her, and then sat down on a near-by rock. Both pulled their packs off their backs with a relieved sigh.

"What food have we got left, Sam?" Frodo asked, now turning to the addressed.

Sam opened his pack. "Well, let me see." He began to rummage through it and then tugged out a leaf-wrapped packet.

"Oh yes," he said, "lovely. Lembas bread." Setting the wafers on the rock, he reached in and pulled out another packet. "And look!" – He turned to Frodo – "More Lembas bread."

Frodo gave Sam a Look. Breaking the wafer in half, the unrepentant hobbit tossed the halves to his companions and dug out another for himself.

Taking a bite and chewing it, Sam looked up at the other two. "I don't usually hold with foreign food," he told them, "but this Elvish stuff, it's not bad."

Frodo smiled at him fondly. "Nothing ever dampens your spirits, does it, Sam?" he asked rhetorically.

Nonetheless, Sam answered, nodding up at the clouds looming dark grey in the south-east. "Those rainclouds might."

The faces of the other two visibly fell.

"Just what we needed," Maggie groaned. "A downpour." She almost felt like crying. If this wasn't the icing on the cake. Rain! In the Emyn Muil! She groaned again, and then got up.

Frodo and Sam copied her, the latter pausing to tie his pack back together again.

"Well, come on," Frodo told them. "We had best find shelter before this breaks." He jerked his head towards the horizon where the doom of the day was fast approaching.

Slinging their various baggage back on their shoulders, the trio made their way through the rocks and stone of the Emyn Muil.

* * *

Soon the clouds were massed overhead and the sky dumped its buckets on top of the three hobbits. There was a rushing wind, and then all the air around then was soaking wet. Even with their cloaks of Lothlorien to cover themselves with their hair was plastered to their foreheads and their clothing hung limp and heavy off of their bodies. Maggie very quickly decided that she only really like rain when she was inside a modern house working on a puzzle. It wasn't like they hadn't had rain on their journey south with the company, but it had been a light rain, interspersed with snow, and there was always Bill to shelter under, at least for the hobbits. This was a new kind, a pouring deluge.

There sprang suddenly into her mind a clear memory of a conversation from An Unexpected Journey, probably jogged by the rain. She _wished_ that she could find herself even _one_ wizard. She wondered how Gandalf was doing. He had probably come back by now. She thought of what Sarah would say in this situation. If Sarah was there – well, if Sarah was there they'd probably be quoting back and forth lines from the movies. Thinking about Sarah lead to thinking about Boromir. Boromir. Did Sarah succeed? Did he listen? Maggie forced herself not to think about that. She would find out when she would find out, and worrying wouldn't do a thing.

Maggie glanced up. The rain was thinning, though not letting up much. What an odd rock, it was shaped rather like a bear. She shook her head. Where had _that_ come from?

Before long, Frodo led them to a steep cliff. There they sat, huddled together under the slight overhang.

As they settled down, Frodo remarked, rather doubtfully – "I hope that this will provide enough shelter." Well, remarked isn't quite the right word, it was more of a shout. The noise of the rain was hard to hear over. Maggie barely caught Sam's next words.

"If this is shelter," he muttered, "then one wall and no roof make a house!"

Maggie couldn't agree more.

* * *

When the three awoke the next morning it was to find the rain had let up. Feeling slightly more cheerful, they ate a bite of lembas and set out once more, Frodo taking the lead, Sam following, and Maggie at the rear.

The sun was hidden behind a cloud. A wet, grey mist began to creep up their legs, until they looked as if they were swimming in it, and then continued up to above their heads. It was hard to make out objects. Rocks loomed suddenly ahead, and on either side.

"The bear!" Maggie suddenly exclaimed. The others looked at her.

"What bear?" asked Sam, echoed by Frodo.

"That bear!" Maggie swung her arm around, pointing to the rock that she had noticed the day before.

"Ow!" said a voice, one that sounded like Sam's. She had caught him with her hand.

"Sorry," she muttered, before continuing. "I saw a rock that looked like a bear yesterday. I'd swear that that's the same rock."

Sam looked at it critically. "It does look strangely familiar," he said slowly.

Frodo glanced around, exhausted. "That's because we've been here before," he told them. His voice rose slightly in panic. "We're going in circles!"

Maggie thought back to her Brownie years. "Shouldn't we find a spot to wait at until someone comes and finds us?" she suggested. The others looked at her incredulously. "I mean," she corrected hurriedly, "until the mist clears a bit? I know we haven't much time to spare, but we'd waste it, surely, by just going in circles right now. And anyway, I need to sit down, at least for a little while."

After thinking it over for a moment, Frodo agreed, and they gathered under a looming pinnacle of rock.

Night fell, though it didn't become much darker. Just less grey, more black. The Emyn Muil certainly fit the description of 'gloomy'.

They were just drifting off to sleep when Frodo – lying between Maggie and Sam – discreetly nudged them both into wakefulness.

Maggie blinked the drowsiness from her eyes. "Wh-a-a-t?" she yawned, a trifle annoyed. She was just getting comfortable!

Keeping his voice low, almost too low to be heard, Frodo explained. "It's Gollum. He has been following us since the Anduin, maybe before. We must catch him. Do not kill him, unless absolutely necessary. Even the wise cannot see all ends." With the last sentence it seemed like he was quoting someone. Maggie could guess who it was.

With a nod, the trio snuggled back down in their damp blankets, for all appearances going back to sleep. It was not so. They lay in watchful wariness.


	22. Sad Tidings of Great Sorrow

(Sarah POV)

_(After a very quick breakfast of porridge while Beorn and Déor took down the tent, the group of eight climbed atop their horses. As there was no horse to spare for Sarah, and they could not wait for her to follow on foot pace, she rode behind Eda. During the course of the morning she was introduced to the last member of the small family, Wulf's seventeen year old brother, Magorinc. Magorinc was very quiet, if he talked at all it was to his horse, a beautiful black mare. He was very fond of her, Eda informed Sarah. She was the opposite of her cousin, more like Wulf than anyone else. Black horses where almost extinct in Rohan, as raiders from the Black Land (she shuddered) often crossed the Great River on raids and carried them off. Sela was one of the few left in the land, having spent most of her time in the house, or in the middle of the herd where she couldn't be reached._

_The group stopped briefly at noon, both to rest their horses and to eat the bread that Freya passed around. They then mounted their horses once more, though this time, when Beorn found that Sarah could manage a horse, if not as well as Eda, at least well enough to get by, he placed Wulf with her for the afternoon, and had Eda ride with her cousin, so as to spare Eda's horse for a while.)_

* * *

In this way two days passed, until they reached the river of Entwash.

With a great deal of splashing the group crossed the river, taking care to keep the contents of the saddlebags dry.

"We are almost there!" Eda sighed, rubbing the small of her back. "I love our horses dearly, and old Aldfrid not the least, but my back is sore from so much ridding, as is yours, I would imagine."

Sarah only nodded. Almost there, and only three days before she found out if Boromir had lived. Stop it! She reminded herself. Don't even think about it. He lived. She violently shook her head, trying to get the thought out of it.

"Are you alright?" Eda asked – Sarah's braid had hit the back of her neck.

"Yeah, fine," Sarah replied.

Eda nodded, and then fell silent. Most of the journey was like that, everyone silent, except when Wulf was awake. He slept most of the time, but when he wasn't sleeping, you could not make him be quiet. He went on and on and on about the most random of things.

It got to the point that Magorinc would put a hand over his mouth as they went along, or ask for a cloth with which to bind the ever jabbering lips. After the crossing of the river, the journey continued in much the same way as before. The mountains were drawing ever closer, and were becoming a bit more than a blue haze, you could now pick out trees on the slopes, and there was a dark, deep fold that Déor said was Helm's Deep.

The next day, they were almost at the base of the mountains. There were foot hills of a sort winding in and out, cutting the plain into lopsided sections. As they came around one of these, about three miles out from Helm's Deep, they came upon a long column of women, children, and old men.

Beorn raised his hand, halting their small company. "Stay here," he told them, swinging off his horse himself. "Déor and I will go forward. If something goes wrong, leave immediately and make for Edoras."

Magorinc nodded and climbed down as well, quickly walking to where the two men were standing. The three had a whispered conference, and then the two grown men left, striding towards the column. As they approached, a young woman broke away and came to meet them. Nothing could be heard of their conversation, but soon Beorn began to beckon to those hidden behind the hill.

Magorinc swung up behind Wulf again, and the six urged their horses forward. As they joined Beorn, Déor, and the young woman Beorn began to introduce them.

"This is my family," he said. "My wife Freya and my sons Magorinc and Wulf, and this is my brother's wife, Sigrid, and their daughter Eda."

"And who are you?" the woman asked. Sarah was pretty sure that she was Eowyn, and this was confirmed by Beorn.

"This is Sarah, my Lady, a young woman who has been traveling with us after she lost her friends."

Sarah bowed her head, a little unsure of how she should greet one of Rohan's nobility. "My Lady," she murmured.

Eowyn nodded, and then leaned her head towards the column. "Join us my lords," she invited. "We are making for the refuge of Helm's Deep."

"Thank you, my Lady," Beorn said, bowing once again. Eowyn then turned and walked towards the column, which by now had halted, waiting for her to finish her business with the strangers. They all followed her.

Now that they were going at foot-pace, both Sarah and Eda dismounted, Eda leading her horse by its bridle.

"It feels good to walk again!" said girl exclaimed.

"Yes it does!" Sarah agreed emphatically, and then craned her neck to look around over the heads. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli should be there, and Boromir too. Where were they?

"Are you looking for your friends?" Eda asked sympathetically. "You could ask those from Edoras if anyone has arrived in the past week."

Sarah smiled at her. "Thank you, I may do that."

"Well, if you do, do come back. You may have reached you destination, but I still wish to see you." Eda sounded very worried.

"Don't worry!" Sarah told her, "I'll come back. See you later!" Tightening the straps on her pack, Sarah disappeared into the crowd, moving towards the front. She seemed to remember that they had ridden with the king at the head, and that might be the best place to look.

Worming her way forward, she almost knocked over an old lady carrying a basket that was much too large for her. Very quickly all previous plans went out the window. A minute later found Sarah with a large basket in her hands, walking along between a small child, about eight years old, and her grandmother, an old woman of about eighty. The grandmother kept babbling a string of what sounded like old English, though Sarah did not understand a word. Well, actually, she understood about one in every ten words, mostly ones that hadn't changed over the years, like 'in' and 'a'. Not very useful for carrying on a conversation.

About forty-five minutes later, Sarah was about to ask the girl next to her if any strangers had arrived in Meduseld in the past few days when a cry arose at the head of the column. It was carried down the entire length, and as one everybody surged forward.

"Helm's Deep!" the people cried. "Helm's Deep!"

Sarah hurried along, so as to not be knocked off of her feet. Those around her were laughing and crying at the same time, all practically running for the Deeping-coomb. She stepped to the side for a moment, and then stood still, surveying the mighty fortress of Helm's Deep.

It looked pretty much like it did in the movie. A grey stone wall curving outward, a gate, a stone ramp, a tower with the Horn, almost exactly the same.

The press of people only got more compact as they neared the causeway, like a thick liquid trying to pour out of the narrow neck of a bottle. Sarah, having already given the basket back to its owner, ended up carrying a two year old in her arms so that he wouldn't be trampled. As soon as they were through the door the crowd thinned out, spreading off in two directions, she set the little boy down, asking him where his mommy was, but he just sucked his thumb and hung onto her skirt.

"Alright," she sighed, scooping him up. "You can stay with me. Come on, let's go see if your mommy's with the others in the caves."

Together they wandered off, the little guy eventually falling asleep on her shoulder. She was just about to set him down when another boy came up behind her, around ten years old.

"Alric, there you are!" he cried in obvious relief. "Thank you!" he told Sarah. "I could not find him anywhere."

"Here he is," Sarah said, handing him over. "He just kinda attached to me. We were looking for his mommy."

With a last thank you, Alric and his brother disappeared into the crowd. Turning around, Sarah almost ran smack dab into Eda.

"I have found you!" she exclaimed. "Good. Where have you been? I have asked those from Edoras, and they say that the heir of Isildur has come back! The Lord Aragorn! And with him and his companions was the grey pilgrim, Gandalf." She paused. "Sarah, are you well?"

"Yeah, fine," Sarah said shortly, sitting down on a rock. "Just need to catch my breath. Did they say how many companions the two had?"

"No," Eda replied, "Just that there were several, and that one was of the fair folk."

Sarah nodded. At that moment there came the sound of hooves from the gate and a herald's voice shouting.

"Make way for the King! Make way for Théoden!"

"It is the king! King Théoden!" Eda grabbed Sarah's arm and began to run towards the gate. Sarah dashed after her, a sick feeling in her stomach. The horses clattered into the courtyard, the herald still clearing the path. The men began to dismount, carrying their wounded comrades to the place of healing. Sarah caught a glimpse of Beorn and Déor approaching to help. She searched the faces, looking for any sign of her friends, Boromir in particular.

There was Gimli, speaking to Eowyn, and there was Legolas, helping an injured man away. No one else from the Fellowship in site. She ran to Gimli. Eowyn had disappeared.

"Gimli! Gimli!" she shouted. He looked up from where his head had been bowed over his axe.

"Sarah? Sarah!"

Sarah dashed towards him, dropping down on her knees and giving him a bear hug. He stood there looking rather lost, patting her awkwardly on the back. Blushing bright red, Sarah let go.

"Sarah, lass," he told her, "We thought you were dead."

Sarah began to feel a sinking sensation in her stomach. Wouldn't Boromir have told them?

"Where is Boromir, and Aragorn?" she asked him.

Gimli looked grave. "They fell."

Sarah's mind shut down. It all went blank. Boromir was dead. She had failed. Wait a moment…

"When?" she asked.

Gimli opened his mouth to reply, but the question was answered by someone behind her.

"Boromir fell defending the Hobbits on Amon Hen," came Legolas's voice, "and Aragorn–" he broke off.

Another voice came from the side. "Lord Aragorn fell from a cliff." Sarah's head snapped around. King Théoden stood by Legolas, looking exceptionally grave.

"Come," he told Legolas and Gimli. "We must look to the defenses."

They both nodded, and Gimli started after him. Legolas stood a moment and clasped Sarah's shoulder. "I am glad that you are living," he said quietly, "we feared that you were dead." He then turned and followed after Gimli and the King.

Sarah watched them disappear into the crowd on the steps. Boromir was dead. He was dead. The rest of the world faded out as she stood there. Because she had failed, he was dead. Her cheeks felt hot and moist, as did her eyes, but that was all that she knew of the outside world. Boromir was dead. Gradually she became aware of a hand on her shoulder and voice saying her name over and over again. She didn't respond. The same hand and voice lead her to a wall and sat her down, still saying her name. Finally, her brain registered the voice. It was Eda.

"Sarah, Sarah, are you well?"

Sarah blinked, dimly becoming aware that tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"He's dead," she whispered. Eda wrapped her arms around her.

"Oh Sarah!"

Sarah laid her head on Eda's shoulder and repeated herself. "Boromir's dead."

Eda sat stroking her head while she cried. That was how Sigrid found them when she went looking for Eda.

* * *

The sound of stone grinding upon stone came from the gates of the Hornburg. Those guarding them were pulling them open to let a solitary horseman through.

Sarah looked up dimly, only have curious, and then gave a start. The man dismounting was very familiar.

"He's alive!" Freya shouted from the other side of the crowd. Gimli came pushing his way forward, grumbling and muttering, before giving Aragorn a bear hug. Aragorn winched, and then Sarah sprang to her feet.

"Sarah!" Eda called, but she ignored her.

"Aragorn!" Sarah plowed into his side, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing. Aragorn automatically returned the hug, and then gave a start.

"Sarah! I thought that you were dead!"

"Why on earth would you think that?" Sarah asked. Both Gimli and Legolas had said it as well, but her mind was on other things at the time, and she hadn't really thought about it.

"Boromir had told us that they took the little ones," Aragorn explained, "and then Gandalf said that you were not with Merry and Pippin. We had assumed that you were dead. Clearly we were wrong."

Sarah nodded, though she felt a sharp pain at the mention of Boromir. That would make sense. She missed the very odd look that Aragorn gave her. Not wanting to let another member of the Fellowship out of her site, she quickly followed him as he strode off towards the keep. They soon entered the stone tower, hurrying past those preparing for a long wait. Just before they reached the doors, Aragorn bumped into Legolas.

With a completely straight face, the elf told him "Le abdollen." He glanced Aragorn up and down, and then continued in English (or Westron) – "You look terrible.

Aragorn blinked at him, and then grinned chuckling a little. While the two clasped shoulders and greeted each other, Sarah tilted her head to one side, trying to figure out what Legolas had said.

Coming back to the present, she realized that both Aragorn and Legolas were heading towards the large doors. She hurried after them, quickly catching up.

Just before Aragorn threw open the doors, Legolas touched her on the shoulder and beckoned her to the side. Giving him a puzzled look, she obeyed, and Aragorn gave a huge shove to the oak doors. He swayed for a moment while those inside rose to their feet in astonishment.

Théoden was the first to speak. "Lord Aragorn!"

Aragorn bowed his head. "Théoden," he greeted.

Sarah glanced up at Legolas, who stood watching the proceedings. Seeming to suddenly remember that she was there, he looked down and spoke softly.

"Sarah, go find Gimli, he will wish to be here as well."

With a nod, Sarah turned and ran off. She paused just outside the doors. Where had she last seen Gimli? She narrowed her eyes, casting her mind back to when Aragorn had arrived. They had hugged, and then she hadn't seen him since. She turned to head back to the courtyard when a small body plowed into her.

"Sarah! Come and see! There is a dwarf, and he is telling the best stories. Mama doesn't want me to listen to them, though."

It was Wulf. Without waiting for an answer, he sized her hand and dragged her outside and up a short flight of steps. There they found Gimli surrounded by eager-looking children and disapproving mothers.

"…and then I cut off their heads! All three of them!" he was saying, as she came up. "But there was this one nasty bugger–"

"Gimli," Sarah called, interrupting him. She now saw exactly why Freya didn't want Wulf listening in. "Aragorn is with the king, Legolas sent me to find you."

All the mothers looked very thankfully at Sarah as Gimli abruptly set the little girl on his knee down on the ground and stood up. The children looked less than happy.

Gimli looked at Sarah expectantly. "Well, where are they lass?"

Sarah jerked her head back at the tower. "Up in the keep, Aragorn's telling King Théoden what he learned. We'd better hurry."

Without bothering to reply, Gimli turned and headed down the flight of steps. Sarah hurried after him. They both slipped into the great room and came to stand by Legolas as King Théoden addressed a question to Aragorn.

**"**A great host, you say?"

Aragorn answered in the affirmative. "All Isenguard is emptied."

"How many?" Théoden asked, still with his back to them.

Aragorn crossed his arms. "Ten Thousand strong at least."

Now Théoden turned to the four in astonishment. "Ten Thousand?"

"It is an army bred for a single purpose: To destroy the world of Men." There was a dramatic pause. Sarah idly wondered if Aragorn liked doing that, he had done it a lot with the hobbits. Now he finished his earlier thought.

"They will be here by nightfall."

Théoden turned his back to them again and strode towards the door. "Let them come!"


	23. Yrch

**Warning: Contains T rated content. Summary below.**

* * *

(Christopher POV)

The sun rose golden in the east on Christopher's fourth day of travel. He had long left the Golden Wood of Lothlorien behind, and was traveling steadily northward, heading for the fork of the Gladden River. He patted the pouch at his side. One of his lessons with Haldir had been geography, but he still felt a lot better knowing that he had a map at his side. The way had been peaceful so far, the only other signs of life being the birds and wild beast, though he knew that it could not last. The mountains that he had to travel had been, until very recently, occupied by Goblins, and Lord Celeborn had reason to believe that they were making their way back there again. He hoped that it wasn't true. It was already going to be hard enough to get to Rivendell in time, without the added disadvantage of being captured by goblins. Christopher later reflected that he should not have said that. If he had been a bit older when arriving in Middle-earth, he might have said that this hope had 'jinxed it'.

The river was wide, swollen with the slowly melting snow from the mountain tops. These were wreathed in fog, though in the south, by Caradhras, there was a storm and a smoke, and had been for days, though it was now thinning out a bit. Christopher was glad; he had little wish for rain on his travels.

After staring at the river for a moment, Christopher pulled out his map. His memory did serve him correctly! The joined Gladden and Sir Ninglor was much wider than the individual rivers, they would be much easier to cross further up. Pocketing the parchment, he headed up stream. Soon reaching a point where the water was shallower, and slightly less swift, Christopher cast about for a log, or something to use to float across – the water was still deep and the stream was still wide and swift.

A few solitary trees grew along the banks, their drooping branches almost touching the dirt below. Taking his sword, Christopher attempted to cut a main branch, very thick, off of the tree. It took a while, but he managed to do it, though he would need to sharpen his sword slightly later. To this he tied his bag, pouch, bow, and quiver, and holding his sword above his head, he began to wade into the stream.

It turned out to be a good thing that he had thought to cut the branch. The water was deeper than he expected, and he ended up almost to his neck once or twice, and lost his footing occasionally. As it was, it took a full fifteen minutes to cross.

The Sir Ninglor was much easier, while swifter, it only came up to his waist, and he did not lose his footing. All in all, though, it was noon by the time Christopher was on the right path, and by that time, he was ready to eat. Elf he may be, inured to hardship and hunger, but he was a growing one, and like all teenaged boys, or elves, needed his food.

After a lembas cake, he was ready to go. The mountains grew ever closer on his left, and before the day was out he was in the foot hills. The sun was sinking into the west when he unrolled his bedding, lay down, and closed his eyes. Sleeping with his eyes shut was one habit that he had never been able to break, though it meant no dreams.

The next two days were uneventful, just walking, and sometimes running lightly over the brown grass, not to mention listening to the birds. They seemed to abound in this part of the world.

In a short while the mountains were all around him, and according to his map the pass should be right where he was standing. He looked up. Nothing above him, nothing to the right, nothing to the left. He glanced at the map again, and then stuck it back in his bag. It clearly was not doing much good at all. With another critical glance at the slope in front of him, he began to climb. Soon he found small white stones, almost overgrown with moss, set in an orderly line, going over the hill and down again, and around a rock. It was behind this that he found the path, a narrow, winding path leading through a dark pine wood. Narrowing his eyes at it, Christopher sat on the ground, ate a bite, drank some water, and once again consulted his map. Sure enough, there was the path, and it was the one that he was one. Quickly packing up again, he set off up the trail, which after turning a corner began to climb steeply, up, up, up the mountainside.

Night fell. With the trees only letting in the slightest bit of light, it was very, very dark. When the moon was high in the sky, or at least what Christopher could see of it through the tree tops, he climbed up into a small pine and fell asleep.

* * *

He was tired out, so perhaps that might explain it. Or it might be the fact that he was young, and therefore not quite as watchful as he might have been. Whatever it was, when he awoke it was to an arrow set to his neck, the black feathered shaft of an Orc.

He froze, cursing himself in his mind. How had he been so careless?

"Git up," the orc snarled, prodding him with its foot. "I don't wanna be stuck in a tree all night. Git up elf-scum."

Slowly Christopher complied, though he did not like it. His knife was in his boot, but there was no way he could access it without getting an arrow through his throat for his troubles. This was a pretty pickle, as his vague memories of his mom would say.

The tree was surrounded by archers, all orcs, and all with their arrows trained on him. One false move and he would be a pin cushion. He spared a brief thought for what Orophin would say. He probably didn't want to hear it.

The orc that had awoken him came down heavily, cursing up a storm. Soon they were both on the ground. With rough hands, the other orcs yanked his belt off of his tunic, taking with it his quiver, pouch, and sword, and then snapped his bow, grinning maliciously. He gritted his teeth. Ada had given him that bow. Thankfully they didn't find his knife, hidden as it was inside his boot. His arms were yanked behind his back and tied painfully at the elbows. A noose was made in the end of another rope and looped over his head, around his neck. The end was held by the leader, an ugly brute with an ornate helmet.

Jerking him along behind, they set off at a quick trot, following the same path that Christopher had taken the day before. He was forced to follow, little though he liked it.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Soon they came out of the trees, following a well-worn track between two smaller mountains. Christopher recognized it as the path that he had been told to follow. Clearly these yrch were newcomers, as Lord Celeborn and Rumil would have told him to take a different one, or at least warned him. They halted briefly in an open glade and glanced up at the fading stars, scowling and snarling to themselves, talking in their abominable tongue. Finally seeming to come to a decision, they tied Christopher to a tree, wrapping his arms around the trunk behind him and tying his ankles and his neck to the rough bark. There they left him, gathering under the shelter of a few trees and sharing out meat and drink. They offered none to the elf. Christopher watched them, not particularly hungry, but very thirsty.

The sun rose, and the orcs became weak and wobbly, and hid behind the grouping of boulders. Her rays beat down on Christopher, tormenting him. It was hot, very hot, for spring, and there was no shade. The tree to which he was tied bore no leaves. Though occasionally his eyes drooped, Christopher did his best to keep awake. He couldn't afford fall asleep. Reaching his boot was out of the question, but there was no other way that he could think of to escape.

The rough bark of the tree dug into his back. Suddenly the spark of an idea dawned. Taking a glance at the orcs, thankfully paying no attention to him, he began to rub the rope back and forth gently on the trunk of the tree, pulling the rope taught with his hands. There was a soft snap. One of the strands was broken. Taking encouragement, he rubbed harder and faster, still trying to be quiet. Another snap. It was working. He estimated that there were ten strands, which meant eight more to go. The sun climbed, reaching and passing its peak. It was beginning to disappear behind the mountain when the last rope broke with and especial loud 'snap!'.

Christopher froze as the orcs looked up. He kept his hands behind the tree, giving the impression that they were still tied. It worked. After narrowing their beady eyes suspiciously at him, they looked up at the sun, noticed its position, and decided to wait just a bit longer before setting out. They turned back around.

Still with his eyes fixed on them, Christopher raised his hands, still with the frayed ends of the rope dangling off of them, to his neck. He turned the loop of rope carefully around, taking care not to choke himself. It was hard not to, as it was drawn cruelly tight. When he had worked the knot around to in front of his Adam's apple he began to untie it. It was a good knot, a very good one, but Christopher knew how to undo it. It just took a while.

As soon as it was loosed he took a deep gulp of air. It felt very good to be able to freely breathe again. Flexing his wrists, he bent down to reach his knife out of his boot. His hand had reached his knee when one of the smaller orcs looked up.

"Oi!" It shouted. "The elf scum! It's escapin'!"

With a roar the rest responded like lightening to its words. They sprang up, and before he knew what had happened, Christopher was surrounded by the beasts. They yanked his arms over his head, dangling him so the tops of his toes just barely reached the floor. The chieftain grabbed his chin in its hand, yanking it up so that it could look him in the face.

"Yew tried to escape," he sneered, and then looked around to all of the others gathered around. "An' what do we do to those what escape?" he asked them. Chants of 'whip, whip, whip!' started up. It held out its hand, grinning madly. The small orc, the one that had noticed Christopher, ran up with a modified version of the cat o' nine tails. The chieftain snatched it out of its hand, telling the 'snaga' to get out of the way

With a horrible leer, the orcs tied Christopher's hands to a low hanging branch, letting him dangle there. By now the sun was fully hidden behind the mountains, and it was almost dark.

The lead orc approached Christopher with slow prowling steps, like a panther stalking its prey. It relished in the look of fear that he valiantly tried to hide. After pacing around him once or twice, taking in his whole frame, the orc stopped directly behind him, raised the whip, and brought it down with a swish and a crack across Christopher's back.

There was tearing sound, mainly of his tunic ripping. His whole body seized, but he didn't make a sound beyond a small whimper, too quiet for the orcs to hear.

Flames leaped up, someone had lit a torch. Christopher blinked in the sudden light.

Another swish. Another crack, the whip fell across his back again, this time tearing flesh, not cloth. Christopher's whole back felt as if it was on fire. Once more the whip came, and this time he gave as gasp. The evil leers of the orcs grew larger, and they gathered in closer than ever.

They began to taunt him, telling him to fight back, calling him a coward, telling him to squeal. Again the whip fell, everything became hazy. Another time, and this time, though he tried to hold it in, he let out a cry.

Harsh laughter rang out over the path, filling Christopher's ears. He couldn't remember much else. He later assumed that he had become unconscious, because the next thing he remembered after being cut down was bouncing along on the back of an orc, his face buried in its side as it carried him in a fireman's hold. Once they realized that he was awake they set him on his feet. With gleeful expressions they forced a bit of water down his throat, tied his elbows behind his bloodied back, a rope around his neck, and forced him to trot once more.

* * *

As day began to dawn again Christopher noticed a change in the terrain. Instead of climbing, as they had been for a day or two, they were instead beginning to descend.

His captures noticed it too, and, calling a halt, began to talk among themselves. From what he could gather out of his haze of pain, they were trying to decide where to go next, if they should turn, or continue on with the original plan of going somewhere up in the Ettendales.

He took the precious few moments of standing still to just close his eyes and try to catch a second or two of sleep standing up before they moved on again. It didn't work. The pain was too great, and he was almost fainting, or at the very least he felt very light headed.

Once again they began to trot on, just finishing the distance to the foot of the mountain. In the early glow of the sun they could see the foothills, craggy and steep, laid out before them. There were pine woods here as well, even more thick and close then the ones on the east, stretching out for miles and miles, as far as the orc's eyes could see, and Christopher's at the moment, as they were rather dim.

Pulling up into these pine woods as the sun was coming up in earnest, the orcs, assuming that Christopher wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, left him trussed up on the ground a short ways off. His neck-rope they tied around a near-by pine, but other than that, they did nothing to secure him beyond what he had had during the hike. This was their mistake.

Cowering from the sun, they did not notice Christopher curling his feet up to where his hands were located. He winced, his boot's heel had touched his back. Relaxing once more, he brought his boot up again. This time he got his stiff fingers into the boot and wrapped them around the carved handle of his knife. With a grimace, he slowly inched it out. There! Now it was in his hands. It was then that he realized a slight problem. How to get it to where the ropes were. He couldn't reached up to his elbows with his hands, and his neck was out of reach entirely.

With slight, soft gasps of pain, he inched around to the tree truck, set his knife to the bark as best he could, and slid it down to where the rope was. He paused. His arms were aching, and he had to take a short rest. The orcs were arguing and shouting with each other and paying no attention whatsoever to him. Taking a deep breath, and ignoring his burning back as best he could, he began to saw. The knife was sharp, and cut through the rope, and some of the tree, like butter.

Christopher lay there beside the tree for a full five minutes, resting, completely exhausted from the last few days. Then he turned the knife slowly in his hands until it pointed strait up his back. Using the tip, he began to poke around where the knot was tied, attempting to fray it to the point of breakage, or even cut it. Though it took him almost an hour, interspersed with multiple rests, he did it. Moving his sore arms, he tested the strength of the rope – it was very, very frail, and would pop with the slightest snap, or so he judged. Waiting for a particularly loud moment, when the orcs couldn't possibly hear him, he made his arms give an almighty jerk, tearing apart the remaining fibers of the string.

He let out a gasp. Everything was consumed by burning for a minute, before his vision cleared, and the pain lessened a slight bit. He twisted his shoulders a little. They were very, very, very, very sore, as would be expected.

After another while of lying on the ground, Christopher picked up his knife and crawled painfully away, using his elbows and knees.

He was just past the rock, going back up the way that they had come, when there came a shout from behind, one of 'Elf scum!'.

He pushed himself up on his hands and feet, squared his sore shoulders, and ran (or rather, limp-ran) for it. Straight up the path, turn to the left, into the woods, and up a tree. He climbed to the highest branches of the pine, his hands very quickly becoming sticky with sap. The noise of the group of orcs passing along the path came from the right. They must of not had any trackers with them, or any trackers that could track an elf, as they passed the place that he had left the path by easily and continued on, shouting in their hideous tongue. Christopher heaved a sigh of relief, made himself as comfortable as he could, and fell asleep.

* * *

**Summary of the chapter for those who didn't read it:**

_**Christopher crosses the Gladden and the Sir Ninglor with some small difficulty, and makes it to the mountains. As he rests for the night, he is taken captive by orcs. The first time he tries to escape he is caught and whipped, the second time he succeeds and beds down in a pine tree for the night.**_


	24. Saved by the Bell (or not)

(Sarah POV)

Sarah soon found herself following King Théoden, Gamling, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, in that order, through the fortress of Helm's Deep, heading towards the Gates. Théoden was speaking to Gamling, the one usually in charge of the fortress, giving him orders for its defense.

They strode past those reinforcing the old gates with new wooden beams and out into the sunlight. Or rather, the men did. Sarah paused inside the gate to watch the men at work.

Théoden's voice floated in from outside, almost drowned out by the banging of hammers upon wood and metal. With all the noise, Sarah could hear about one in every five words, and they were barely able to be understood at that.

Suddenly the words became more distinguishable, only it was Gimli speaking, trying to correct Théoden's view of the Uruk-hai.

"This is no rabble of mindless Orcs," he insisted, leaning on his axe. "These are Uruk-Hai. Their armor is thick and their shields broad." The 'r's rolled off his tongue.

Turning to the gate, Sarah could see King Théoden walk up into Gimli's personal space. The words were too low her to make out clearly, but she remembered vaguely what had been said in the movie. Something about having been in many wars and Théoden knowing how to defend his own fortress, or something like that. It had been a long time.

Gimli growled as the others passed him, and then turned to follow. Sarah quickly fell in step with him.

"It's alright, Gimli," she told him. "I'm sure he'll regret those words before the night's through."

Gimli ignored her, save to scowl. She shrugged. At least she had tried.

The men, or males, as the case may be, took a right and began to walk up to a balcony of sorts. With a nod of farewell to Gimli, who did not notice, Sarah turned, and instead of going up, went around. She found a small group of women gathering various items into baskets to take down to the caves and joined them, lifting a heavy piece of linen and folding it. Théoden was speaking, but she didn't really pay attention until Aragorn replied, sounding rather annoyed.

"They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops or villages. They come to destroy its people, down to the last child!" Oh, so they were talking about what Saruman's plans were. She once again ignored them, at least until the voices were audible again. Aragorn must have just suggested asking Gondor for aid.

"Gondor?!" asked King Théoden hotly. "Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell?! Where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us?!" Sarah started to get very annoyed. Where was Gondor? Gondor was busy with her own war, keeping the forces of Mordor at bay. The bravest man that she had known was from Gondor. Sarah choked back a sudden sob at the reminder, and her chin began to quiver again. Boromir. In her mind's eye she saw clearly the scene from the Fellowship of the Ring, the arrows slamming into her friend, him fighting on, the hobbit's being taken. Tears once again began to course down her face. Boromir! Why, out of everyone, did Boromir have to die? Why? _Why_?

Scooping up a full basket, Sarah fled to the caves, looking for a private corner to hide in. Like with most normal people, or at least, approaching the state of normal people, it was embarrassing to cry in the open.

She had no such luck. She had barely stepped through the doors when she was accosted by the boy whose brother was Alric-the-extremely-cute-toddler.

"My lady!" he called, touching her on her shoulder. Sarah whirled around, caught by surprise, and then relaxed upon seeing who it was.

"It's Sarah," she told him, blinking her eyes rapidly to get rid of the tears. "Yes?"

"M-Sarah. The men say that I have to fight, would you guard Alric? I cannot take him with me, and I cannot leave him alone." If the lad noticed that she had been crying, he didn't show it.

"Of course!" replied Sarah. "Give me a second." Turning away, she placed the basket on the floor and discreetly wiped her eyes with the hem of her sleeve. "Here," she said, turning around and reaching her arms out for the baby. The boy kissed him on the forehead and handed him over.

"Please take good care of him," he asked her. "He is all I have left." The boy turned to leave, and then paused as Sarah called after him.

"Wait! What is your name?"

He turned. "Haleth, son of Háma," he answered, and then was gone.

Sarah swung the toddler onto her hip. "What am I to do with you?" she asked. Little Alric opened his hands wide in a gesture of confusion, gave a baby shrug, and then buried his face into her shoulder.

Sarah smiled through her renewed tears and cuddled him to her chest. "I'm glad you're here, Alric, son of Háma," she told him.

It was dark now. There were no boys older than nine in the caves, and those that were left were clinging to their mother's skirts. Alric was playing with two stones on the floor, banging them together. There was a feeling of tense silence in the air, a watchful wariness. Eda sat nearby, playing with the end of her braid, for once quiet.

Seized with a sudden impulse to leave the cave, she turned to Eda.

"Eda," Sarah whispered softly, getting her attention. "Could you watch Alric for a moment? I need to, um, go, er, do stuff."

Eda gave her a knowing look, nodded, and pointed to an out of the way corner. "Over there."

With an acknowledging nod, Sarah stood up and slipped off in that direction. As soon as she was out of sight amid the crowd of people, she pulled her hood over her head and turned in the opposite direction, towards the entrance. Locating her knife, she slipped out of the caves and found the steps leading up to where the armory was located. No one noticed her, or if they did, they probably just assumed that she was one of the many young boys. She was about to step into the torch-lit room when she almost ran into Legolas leaving. Sarah quickly stepped to the side and lowered her head, bending her knees slightly so as to not be quite as familiar. She need not have done so, Legolas didn't spare her a glance, but continued to his destination. After a brief moment of deliberation, Sarah followed.

They entered a small room where Aragorn was just finishing tying his belt. Legolas strode forward and picked up Anduril, handing it to him.

"We have trusted you this far," he told the Dunadan quietly. "You have not led us astray. Forgive me. I was wrong to despair."

Sarah blinked. Where had that come from?

Aragorn replied in Sindarin, the only word intelligible to Sarah being 'Legolas', and they placed their hands on each other's shoulders.

Aragorn then glanced up and noticed her. He blinked in surprise, and was opening his mouth when Gimli came in through the door, a chainmail shirt bunched up around his armpits. Sarah quickly stepped out of his way. He was muttering as he fought with it, and all of a sudden it fell down about his feet.

By this time all three people taller than five feet where struggling to hold back laughter.

Gimli glanced up at them, seeming a little put out. "It's a little tight across the chest," he remarked.

It was, and Sarah lost the battle, succumbing to her giggles. She clapped a hand to her mouth as Gimli leveled a death-glare at her.

With a great effort she got them under control and apologized, though she didn't really mean it. "Sorry!"

Once again Aragorn opened his mouth, presumably to ask her what in Arda she was doing out of the caves, when once again he was interrupted. Saved by the bell, or rather, the horn.

A long, musical blast rang out from the gate.

Shock, confusion, and then extreme happiness ran across Legolas's face in quick succession. "That is no orc horn," he observed, very hopefully, and then ran out the door. Aragorn gave Sarah a Look, and then ran after him. After glancing apologetically at Gimli, Sarah did the same, eager for news of Christopher.

A long 'grr' followed her up the passage.

The man and the elf's legs were much faster than Sarah's, and she reached the gate just as Aragorn and Haldir had finished embracing.

Haldir turned to Théoden and smiled. "We are proud to fight alongside men once more," he told him. Sarah noticed that Legolas was now standing behind the Captain, among the ranks of the Galadhrim.

Aragorn and Haldir spoke rapidly together in Sindarin, Aragorn gesturing at the wall, clearly explaining who was to go where. Occasionally they switched to Westron and consulted King Théoden, but Sarah wasn't paying any attention. All those battle tactics went over her head completely anyways. She searched the stern faces of the elves for any familiar sign, neither Rumil nor Orophin. She didn't think Christopher would be there, it _was_ a long way to Rivendell. There! Rumil was standing near the end of the line.

Sarah fidgeted in place. She very obviously couldn't go up to him, and there was no guarantee that she would be able to speak with him or Haldir by the next morning. Wait a second… Haldir! She glanced back and forth between Aragorn, Haldir, and Rumil, and then came to a decision. Haldir was the priority to talk to - if she could get to him before Aragorn sent her packing for the caves. How long could she fake going to the bathroom, anyway? She hoped that Eda wasn't getting too worried.

Haldir's voice broke into the middle of these thoughts, raised so as to be easily heard by the entire group. Presumably he was ordering them to where they should go, as they broke away and headed, some up the wall, some to the space behind it. Sarah couldn't understand a word, though.

Now was her chance!

She wiggled her way through the crowd of Rohirrim come to gawk at the arriving army and reached Haldir as he was about to leave with his men.

"Haldir!" she shouted over the noise of the gate closing. "Haldir!"

He whirled around. "Sarah!" he exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Never mind that," Sarah told him. "There's no time. I already failed to save one person, I'm not going to fail again."

"What are you talking about?" Haldir sounded puzzled, and not a little alarmed.

"Look, Haldir, you're going to die. I watched it. When Aragorn tells you to retreat a big orc's going to hit you on the head and kill you, you need to turn around. Haldir, you can't die, Christopher–"

Haldir put a hand on her shoulder. "Shh," he told her soothingly. "I will be careful, you have no need for worry." He paused, and then spoke again. "Do you often have dreams like this?"

"Dreams?" Sarah furrowed her brow. "Oh, yeah, dreams. Yeah, occasionally."

Haldir nodded slowly. "Dreams. I shall speak to the Lady, but for now, I must go." He turned briskly and walked up the stone stair. Sarah watched him go.

"Sarah." A hand descended on to her shoulder, making her jump in surprise. "What are you doing out here, you should be with the others in the caves." It was Aragorn.

"I, I," now that she thought about it, Sarah _wasn't_ sure why she had ventured out of the crystal caves. She knew Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli survived the fight just fine, and she had only remembered Haldir when she had seen the elves arrive. Haldir. That would be a good reason.

"Do you remember what I told you in Bree?" she asked.

Aragorn furrowed his brow, and then made a 'go on' gesture with his hand.

"I know who's going to die, I," she blinked hard. She was _not_ crying here. "I knew about Boromir, I tried to warn him, but he told me to run." She paused for a second. "Hal-Haldir also dies. Here. In this battle. Théoden gives you the order to retreat, you tell Haldir, and then an orc smashes him on the head. I had to warn him. Christo-Anessen, I mean, he, well, he–"

Aragorn put a hand on her shoulder and bent down to look her in the eye. "If it is in my power, Sarah," he told her, "Haldir will live through the night. I promise you."

Sarah nodded wordlessly. If she spoke, she would break down in tears. Moved by a sudden impulse, she gave Aragorn a hug around the waist, turned, and then fled back to the caves.

"Are you feeling alright?" Eda asked, as Sarah returned to their corner. "You were gone quite a while."

Sarah shrugged. "Yeah, I'm fine. I was, well, I mean, I didn't get a chance to say goodbye and wish my friends luck, they were too busy arranging things for tonight. I may have, um, slipped out."

Sarah felt her face heating up. What was up with her, it wasn't _that_ embarrassing. Thankfully, though, Eda was very understanding.

"That is alright," she told her, "I am very thankful that I got to bid papa, Uncle Beorn, and Magorinc farewell. It is only right that you should to the same with Lord Aragorn and his companions.

"Thanks." Sarah smiled slightly and took the slumbering two year old from Eda. Alric shifted in her arms, snuggled down, and went back to sleep.

The feeling of waiting intensified. If a child cried out they were quickly shushed by their mothers, and no one spoke. All of a sudden there was a thumping above them, as of many feet tramping overhead.

"Yrch," Sarah breathed, deliberately using the elvish word. She shuddered. Even knowing how the battle would turn out did not take the fear away, it actually only made it worse. While she knew that Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli would survive, there was absolutely not guarantee that her new friends, Beorn, Déor, Magorinc, and Haleth would. She cast her mind back to the movie. It had been so long since she had seen it, and quite a lot of the details were blurry. She vaguely remember Aragorn talking to a lad, possibly Haleth, but she couldn't remember if he lived or not. So many of the young boys had died.

There was a roar, as of a thousand, or ten thousand, voices above, and then more tramping. It had started. She wished it wouldn't have. The noise came pounding above. No one, except the very small, slept. Hours passed. Slowly people began to doze off. Eda leaned against a pillar, pulled a blanket up to her chin, and lay there, eyes wide open, unable to go to sleep. Sarah rocked Alric, and then began to hum softly to him. That hum slowly turned into a song, a song that she had once memorized, and then had hoped that she never would need to sing again.

"Through Rohan over fen and field where the long grass grows  
The West Wind comes walking, and about the walls it goes.  
'What news from the West, O wandering wind, do you bring to me tonight?  
Have you seen Boromir the Tall by moon or by starlight?  
'I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide and grey,  
I saw him walk in empty lands until he passed away  
Into the shadows of the North, I saw him then no more.  
The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of Denethor,  
'O Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar,  
But you came not from the empty lands where no men are."

Sarah paused, taking a moment to let her voice stop breaking, and then continued.

"From the mouths of the Sea the South Wind flies, from the sandhills and the stones,  
The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans.  
'What news from the South, O sighing wind, do you bring to me at eve?  
Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve.  
'Ask not of me where he doth dwell – so many bones there lie,  
On the white shores and the dark shores under the stormy sky,  
So many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing Sea.  
Ask of the North Wind news of them the North Wind sends to me!'  
'O Boromir! Beyond the gate the seaward roads runs south,  
But you came not with the wailing gulls from the grey sea's mouth'."

Now it was the last verse, the one that Aragorn originally sang, the last farewell.

"From the Gate of the Kings the North Wind rides, and past the roaring falls,  
And clear and cold about the tower its loud horn calls.  
'What news from the North, O mighty wind, do you bring to me today?  
What news of Boromir the bold? For he is long away.'  
'Beneath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he fought,  
His cloven shield, his broken sword, they to the water brought.  
His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid to rest,  
And Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, bore him upon its breast.  
'O Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze,  
To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days."

After she had finished Eda sat up. "Who was he?" she asked. "This Boromir."

There was silence for a moment. Sarah sighed and wiped away her tears. "He was my friend," she said simply.

Eda wrapped her arms around the other girl. No words were said. No words needed to be said. Alric shifted again, placed his thumb in his mouth, and fell back asleep. All was quiet. Slowly, one by one, those around them began to drift into an uneasy sleep.


	25. In Which Maggie Sees as Sarah Does

(Maggie POV)

Maggie pinched herself. It was hard to keep awake. The journey that day had taxed her strength, and the weight about her neck was growing apace. All she wanted to do was sleep! The night wore on. She was drowsing, drifting between dream and the waking world, when sniffling and snuffling grew above her, starting to turn into words. Words that sent a shiver down her spine, while at the same time bringing back pleasant memories of hunching over cookies with Sarah, muttering 'My Precious."

"They're thieves. They're thieves. They're filthy little thieves," the hissing came from above. "Where is it? Where is it? They stole it from us. My Precious. Curse them, we hates them!" Gollum. It was Gollum, or Sméagol as he was once called. "It's ours it is, and we wants it!"

Cracking her eyes open and peering through her lashes, Maggie could see Gollum's long, spindly fingers hovered over her, wavering between her and Frodo, as if they couldn't decide which to throttle first. Lamp-like green eyes shone pale above.

"Ah!" With a shout, Sam and Frodo sprang up, Maggie seconds behind them. The two older hobbits seized Gollum about the wrists and yanked him to the ground. Maggie jumped on his middle, pinning him down. With surprisingly great strength the creature ripped his arm away from Sam and reached his hand towards Maggie's neck, scrabbling at her collar where the ring was hidden.

Frodo shoved Maggie back, reaching for Gollum's own neck as he did so. Like lightening striking a tall building Gollum evaded him, coming after Maggie, who by now had gotten off her sling and was in the process of fitting a stone into it. There was no time to gain momentum by slinging it around her head, nor was there any room.

Making do, Maggie heaved back with the leather throngs and wacked Gollum, first on the rump, then on the head, bringing her foot up under him as she did so. Both whacks landed where they were meant to, thought that didn't faze him. The kick, however, did not land where it was intended, but instead caught the belly button, sending him head over heels behind Sam.

Sam spun around, but not quickly enough, Gollum caught his ankle from behind and jerked it, landing him on his back. His head hit the rock with a clunk, and he lay still.

Caught up in furry for his friend, Frodo drew his sword and with an almighty kick threw the wretched creature against the cliff, holding Sting to his neck.

"You do not touch my friends," Frodo hissed, and drew his sword back to strike. Maggie watched, horrified. How had it gone so off course so quickly?

"Wait!" she shouted, stumbling towards Frodo, pulling back on his raised arm. "Don't!"

Frodo turned to look at her, still keeping Gollum pinned to the rock. "Why?" he asked coldly. "He deserves it. He should have died long ago."

Maggie was shocked at the look in his eyes, one which did not belong on any hobbit, not even on Gollum. The cold fury shone like fire reflecting off of diamonds, sending a shiver into Maggie's very soul. She froze, her mind stuck on anything to say. Without even realizing that she was speaking, she began to quote, quote a memory that had almost faded from her mind, one that she herself didn't even recall knowing.

"Deserves it! I daresay he does. Many that live deserve dearth. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death and judgment. For even the very wise cannot see all ends. There's not much hope that Gollum can be cured before he dies, but there is a chance of it, and I hope that he will be. And he is bound up with the fate of It."

Maggie blinked. That was from the book, the book that she hadn't read in over a year now. She was very surprised that she even remembered it at all.

The light died from Frodo's eyes, and he came back to himself, thrusting Gollum away from him like something diseased. He smiled slightly. "You sound like Gandalf," he told her. "He once said something very like to that." He made as if to continue, but Maggie, glancing behind him, shouted a warning.

"Watch it!"

Frodo spun around just in time to catch a sight of Gollum disappearing into the night. He sighed, turning back to Maggie. "Well, there's no hope for it, we can't go chasing him in the dark, but we'll have to set a watch."

A groan from the left suddenly brought the poor injured Sam back into their minds with a jolt.

"Sam!" Frodo cried, rushing over to where the prone hobbit was lying.

With a groan Sam pushed himself off of the ground, rubbing at the back of his head. Maggie quickly followed Frodo. "Are you all right?" she asked, very worried.

Sam blinked, and did not appear very responsive, more groggy than anything else. Maggie cast her mind back to what her Mom would do whenever Christopher bonked his head very hard on some surface.

Glancing at the hobbit to her right she asked, "Frodo, can you start a fire? I need a light."

Frodo gave her a puzzled look. Maggie elaborated further. "Mom always used to shine a light in our eyes if we bonked our head, I think that she was checking for a concussion. Do you have a light?"

Frodo began to pat his breast pocket, feeling around inside it. A moment later he triumphantly produced a small wooden box.

"Matches!" he proclaimed. "I do not know why I kept them, I lost my pipe long ago, but I still have them, and they are dry, too." He handed the box to Maggie, who accepted it with thanks.

Sliding back the lid with her thumb, she pulled out one of the thin sticks of wood and struck it against the side. It flared up brightly in the dark. Maggie bent down to where Sam was propped up on his elbow and flashed the light in his face, looking for a reaction. She didn't see anything abnormal, but then again, she had absolutely no idea what she was looking for. Pulling back and sitting on her heels, she blew out the match with a quick puff.

"Well?" Frodo asked.

Maggie looked uncomfortable. "Err… I actually don't know what to look for. Mom always just smiled, patted us on the back, and put arnica on the bump."

Frodo looked exasperatedly at her and held out his hand for his precious box of matches.

"Sorry?" Maggie offered sheepishly. It was at about this time that Sam decided to make a verbal appearance.

"I'm alright," he told them. "It is just a knock on the head. Where's that stinker Gollum got to, anyway?"

"We lost him," Frodo answered. "He ran off."

Sam scowled and muttered something about 'good-for-nothing wretches', clearly meaning Gollum and his ilk.

"We'll have to set watches," Maggie observed, repeating what Frodo had said earlier. "With him on the loose, and with an even greater reason for revenge, we'll have to be doubly careful."

The other nodded in agreement. They decided that Maggie would take the first watch, as Sam needed his rest to recover, and hopefully get rid of the headache, and, though they didn't say it, both Frodo and Maggie knew that Maggie did not trust him not to kill Gollum if he came on him again, not this night at least.

With a yawn, Maggie settled against a rock, pulled a blanket up to her chin, and stared at the clouds covering and uncovering the moon. It was dark and lonely, but it gave her time to think, for which she was glad.

They did not have Gollum as a guide, and she had no idea which way to go. Well, she knew the general direction, they all did, but nothing more than that, and she knew how very treacherous the Dead Marshes were. They needed Gollum – badly. They might make it out of the Emyn Muil, in a day or two, but even that would be too long. And Frodo was determined to go into Mordor by way of the front gate, and wouldn't even consider going a different way if Gollum wasn't there to stop him. Though, she reflected, it would be rather hard to get him to agree to going anywhere with Gollum after what had happened that night.

The night wore slowly on, though there was not much left. The battle had taken place about midnight, and she had been thinking off and on for about an hour, so it was probably about two in the morning. She glanced up at the moon, wishing she knew how to tell time by it. It was a bother not to know all these things.

"If I ever get back, I'll learn them," she resolved to herself. "Clearly they're important."

A faint light crept into the sky, signaling the end of the night. It grew and grew, until it cast a rosy pallor on the rocks, a welcome change from the constant clouds. She yawned. This was the first time that she had stayed up _all _night in a while. Sure, she had had insomnia for the past few weeks, but she had always gotten a few hours of sleep in, and she often drowsed off in the boat, while they were still on the Anduin. No-one noticed or cared, she couldn't do much with the oars anyway.

With a shake of her head, Maggie roused herself and woke Frodo and Sam, the latter reluctantly. Sam, however, declared himself as much better for a few hours of sleep, and quite able to go on, in whichever direction they might choose.

* * *

After a quick bite of lembas and a sip of their water, the three continued on. The sun rose, burning off some of the mist, before it was once gain covered by the dark clouds. This dimmed the spirits of the small company greatly, leaving them quite discouraged. It was hard to see, or to make out the shapes of the rocks, or anything like that. All that was left to them was their sense of smell – hearing was deadened by the fog. And what a stench! The Dead Marshes were definitely making their presence known in a very emphatic way.

Maggie wrinkled her nose. The smell had been steadily growing, a positive sign, as it meant that they were reaching the edge of the Emyn Muil, but very unfortunate for her sensitive nose, a downside of being a Hobbit.

"Hang on a sec, guys," she called, dropping her pack from her back and kneeling down beside it.

The two native hobbits, both more towards the front of their little column, paused their steps and then dropped back, coming to stand in front of her.

"What is it?" Frodo asked.

"Cloth," Maggie relied, rummaging through her pack for a scarf, or something similar. There was nothing besides her blanket, which would have done her no good. It was too large. She looked up with a sigh. "Nothing." She glanced considering at the two. "You wouldn't happen to have a piece of cloth other than your blanket, would you?" she asked without much hope. It wasn't very likely, after all.

Frodo shook his head in the negative, replying verbally in like manner.

"I do," Sam told her, looking slightly embarrassed. "Ever since I was a lad, listenin' to old Mr. Bilbo's tales, I would carry a pocket handkerchief with me. 'Never run out the door without one' he would say to me, and so I haven't."

Maggie smiled. "Very smart, that," she complimented him, and Bilbo. "I, unfortunately, forgot that bit of advice."

Still red in the face, Sam fished about in his pocket for the afore mentioned handkerchief. "It's rather large," he said apologetically as he handed it over. It was about the size of a neckerchief, like what you would see pictures of American cowboys wearing.

"Thank you!" Taking the proffered cloth, Maggie grasped the corners, neatly tying it in a triangle around her head, over her mouth and nose. Her voice came through the weave in a muffled explanation. "The stench."

Understanding lit the eyes of Frodo and Sam, and the former looked as if he was thinking of looking through his pack as well.

Now that Maggie's nose was taken care of they continued on, walking for another hour or so, the smell getting stronger and stronger by the minute. Soon they were almost on top of it.

A welcome breeze flew past, ruffling their hair, and taking with it a few tatters of cloud. The sun shone through briefly, providing them with a glimpse of its position in the sky. It was midday.

Accordingly they sat down on a rock to take a rest and to eat, Sam carefully handing the exact amount of food, not too much and not quite enough, but they made do. He eyed their water skins critically.

"I do hope that we find water soon, and fresh water," he remarked. "Those skins are looking mighty empty."

Frodo and Maggie followed his gaze, and soon their faces mirrored his – worried.

Sam sniffed the air, though why he wanted to do that was beyond Maggie. It was awful enough _with_ her band, and she wasn't deliberately sniffing right next to a bog. It was just common sense.

Sam seemed to be lost in thought, and then he spoke, rather slowly, filling the oppressive silence. "It's like Mr. Gandalf told Pip – Mr. Pippin, I should say. 'Always follow your nose' he would say. And that's what we have done. We followed our noses and they led us to this bog, though maybe this bog is where we wanted to go."

"Yes," Frodo answered him, sounding very tired. "This is where we wanted to go, at least I believe, this is the path that Aragorn meant to take."

Maggie shrugged, feeling that she should add something to the conversation. "All I know is that you go over the marshes, and then there's this big field where there was a battle long ago, and then you see the gates. I looked at a few maps in Lord Elronds house."

Frodo nodded. "As did I. It is decided. We will rest tonight, and tomorrow we will look for a way over this cliff. None of us want to go through the swamp, but the sooner we get it over with, the better."

"O-okaaaay," Maggie yawned. She stretched. "I'm going to catch a bit of sleep, if I can. If we're resting the rest of the afternoon I don't see a reason not to." She dropped off, the last thing that she heard were Frodo and Sam's quiet voices going on about something in the Shire, some escapade that Frodo had had when he was younger. Then she remembered no more of the waking world.


	26. Or You Might Belong In Gryffindor

(Sarah POV)

A noise came from the doors to the caves. A pounding, shouting, and a ringing of steel on steel. Sarah jerked out of her thoughts.

"Orcs!" one of the women cried, and the shout was taken up by all those in the cave. "Orcs! Orcs!"

Eda's eyes widened in fear. "Here," Sarah said roughly, shoving Alric into her arms. He would be safe, at least for a while. She sprang up and grabbed her long knife, the one Aragorn gave her, from her boot, running over to where Eowyn was standing. Already women were gathering around her, all carrying some kind of sharp implement of sorts.

Turning to those still towards the back of the caves, the old women, the children, and not a few mothers, Eowyn called back to them. "Take the children, move toward the back. Hide yourselves, and be ready to fight." She then turned back to those gathered. "Stay close to me."

With slow, deliberate steps, Eowyn walked towards the front of the cave. Sarah followed her, and she heard the others following them. With a crash, the doors burst inward. From somewhere behind, there was a scream. Sarah took a deep breath. This time she couldn't hid behind a body and play dead. This time she had to fight.

The orcs came pouring through, about twenty all together, or so it seemed to Sarah's panicked mind. One of them was using one of the guards as a shield - a dead shield. Sarah forced down the sensation of nausea.

A spear was thrown, barely missing Freya by a thread. All of a sudden, Sarah found herself in the midst of them, ducking as best she could, and stabbing here and there. The knife was too short to be of much effect, though she got one's arm.

A hand came out of nowhere and shoved her against the wall. She gasped for breath. There was a large Uruk in front of her, raising its sword to strike. She was frozen with fear, not daring to move. Sarah stared at the sword. The Uruk leered horribly, pulled back, and then stopped mid-strike, a piece of meddle protruding between its ribs. It toppled over, and Sarah met the fierce eyes of Lady Eowyn.

"Come," she told Sarah, and then turned and ran back into the fray. Sarah gulped and followed her. There were only three left now, but they were holding their own. Several of the women were on the floor, and at least one appeared to be dead. Sarah once again felt like she was going to be sick.

Talking a deep gulp of air, she lunged, sinking her knife deep into the side of the Uruk closest to her. With a roar, he turned. Now the knife was on the opposite side, and Sarah had nothing left to fight with and an angry, injured Uruk with a grudge coming at her. She fell forward and scooted between its legs, stuck her legs up, and kicked. Hard. With another roar, it fell to the floor, clutching at its crotch. Sarah snatched up the sword that it had let fall, raised it, and stabbed it at the neck, were there was a gap in the armor. It gave a gurgle and lay still.

Panting hard, Sarah looked up. All the others were dead, and the uninjured women were gathering their fallen weapons. Sarah yanked her knife out of her kill's side. She couldn't see it, but she was positively green in the face.

Her breath came in short gasps. She stood, still panting, and was turning to go when Freya took her hand. She led her to where they had laid those injured in the fight, about five. Sarah blinked at them, knelt beside one, and then, if this were a cartoon, she would have had a light bulb appear over her head.

The Lady's Gift! With a trembling hand she unfastened the pouch holding the cordial, pulled out the stopper, and held it above the mouth of the fallen woman.

A single drop fell, was absorbed by the tongue, and vanished. Nothing happened. For at least a full minute (though it seemed like longer) the woman lay there, barely breathing. Then she took a deep breath, a gulp of air. She was alive. Sarah heaved a sigh of relief.

Pushing up, she ran to the next seriously injured woman, and again, and again, until all five were well. As they walked back into the main part of the caverns, Sarah was thanked quietly by all present, and then they quickly left, not a few showing a slight bit of discomfort.

* * *

After they entered the cave, Sarah just kind of stood there, feeling numb. That was the first battle that she had actually taken part in. She wasn't too scared in the middle of it, but now, afterwards, the terror was setting in. She stood there, frozen. Freya once again took her hand, leading her over to where Eda was sitting with Alric. She sat her down and wrapped a blanket around her, leaving her staring into space.

Another hour passed, or at least it seemed like it. It was hard to tell time without the sun, or the moon, or even a watch. There were torches, but torches do not tell time.

After a bit Eda passed Alric back, muttering something about not being able to feel her arms anymore. Sarah dumbly took him, rocking him in her arms and humming 'Rock a bye baby'.

More time passed. There were booms, bangs, and clashing from above, but other than that, they couldn't hear or understand what was going on above.

After a bit, Eowyn came and sat down near the two girls.

"I wish to say thank you," she told Sarah quietly, "without your healing draught we would have lost many."

Sarah turned her face towards the Lady and nodded. "Thank you for saving my life," she said, her voice almost in a whisper. Shifting Alric in her arms so that should could reach her pack, she dug out Boromir's letter with her free hand. She held it for a moment, staring at it, and remembering his voice, his face, the way that he had shouted at her to go.

"I was told to give this to you," she said, handing the thick square of parchment over. "It's from a dear friend."

Lady Eowyn looked at her, and then took it, turning in over in her hands. Sliding her finger under the seal, she broke it cleanly and withdrew the letter. Two more fell out with it, one directed to Faramir and the other to Denethor. Eowyn opened the one addressed to her, smoothed out the parchment, and began to read. Sarah watched her face carefully. When she had finished, she handed the letter to Sarah.

Sarah looked at her questioningly.

"It is well," Lady Eowyn assured her, "he would not mind that you read it."

Sarah looked down at the paper. The script was hard to read, and was written in an elven style, but she could decipher what he had written. After all, she had grown up with Grace's handwriting. She had had lots of practice.

* * *

_To the Lady Eowyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan, greetings._

_As I write this to you, I am not certain that I will survive the battle that is sure to come. I pray that you, for the sake of long friendship, and for the sake of your brother and cousin, that you take the girl Sarah under your protection. She has become a dear friend to me, and I wish that if I am not there to see to it, she will be provided for. I entrust her to you._

_There are two letters enclosed in this one, one to my father and one to my brother. If you can find some Rider going to my city who would be willing to take them, you would have my eternal thanks._

_Hoping that you will oblige my small requests,  
Boromir, Captain-General of Gondor, son of the Lord Denethor II, Steward of Gondor._

* * *

By the end of the short missive, tears were falling from Sarah's eyes onto the parchment. Taking a deep sniff, she turned to look at Eowyn. Eowyn's eyes were sympathetic, but not pitying. She didn't say anything, just moved her hand slowly up and down Sarah's back.

Sarah cuddled Alric to her and sat there, staring off with a thousand meter stare, as her dad would call it, remembering, remembering Boromir the Tall, Boromir the Bold, Boromir the Fair. Her friend.

The stiff silence was broken by the sound of a low horn blast, a deep trumpeting filling all the air. It was quickly followed by many voices, all crying "The Horn of Helm Hammerhand! The Horn of Helm Hammerhand sounds in the Deep once more!"

Even Eda took up the cry, though Eowyn was silent. All the noise and clamor woke Alric, and he began to struggle to get down, making horn noises with his mouth. Sarah bounced him on her knee to try and make him happy. He wasn't buying it.

"Dow'! Dow'!" he commanded her, as only a two year old can.

After a short while there came a scuffle at the doors of the caves, and men's voices crying 'Unbar the doors! Come out!'

With a great surge the people left the caves, eager to come into the light, to see the victory that had been won. Sarah quickly followed them. She had to find the others, she had to see if Haldir was alive.

Now that they were actually moving, Alric was quite happy to sit on her hip and enjoy the view. As they passed under the arch she swung him up onto her shoulders.

There was a great deal of murmuring as they saw the once-might wall, now in many small peices, and not a few shocked gasps. Sarah heard several 'how did _that_ happen?'s. Quite understandably, too, if she didn't know what had happened, she would have been shocked as well. As it was, she was surprised at how much damage that small bomb had caused, and wondered how much a more sophisticated one on earth might wreak.

As the press of people thinned out she started in search of the remainder of the Fellowship. She smelt the distinctive smell of pipe smoke coming from an out of the way corner. As the only men in Rohan that she knew smoked were Aragorn and Gimli (well, Gimli was a dwarf, but still), she headed in that direction.

She came up behind Legolas just as he fired an arrow at Gimli. She gave a startled yelp as Legolas said "Forty-three."

"He was already dead," Gimli growled. Sarah relaxed. Legolas had hit the Uruk, not the dwarf.

Legolas gave the elf version of a shrug. "He was twitching."

Gimli did not appreciate this. "He was twitching because he's got my ax embedded in his nervous system!" If Sarah were not so worried for Haldir, she would have laughed. "Ah!" continued Gimli, "there you are lass. Have you seen Aragorn?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, I was just about to ask you if you'd seen him, and Haldir."

It was Legolas who answered her. "Haldir is with the wounded in the keep. He is being tended to by his brother Orophin."

It was like Sarah had unconsciously been holding her breath. She felt like a great weight had been taken off of her chest. "And Rumil?" she asked.

"He is organizing the remainder of those fit to fight to march home, back to Lothlorien."

Sarah nodded, and then her attention was drawn to her head, as the toddler perched upon her shoulders had discovered the joys of yanking hair.

"Owowowow!" she exclaimed. "You'd better come down from there." Carefully walking her hands up to the baby's armpits, she swung him down off of her shoulders. Shaking her finger in his face she told him a few rules for being on 'Sa-ah's' head. "No touching the hair."

She then turned to her friends. "I've got to find this little guy's big brother. See you later!" With that she turned and hurried off, pausing to ask an old man if he knew where the older boys were.

He shrugged. "Most of 'em where above the gate," he told her, "but I don' know where they are now."

Thanking him, she hurried off in that direction, taking great care to step over any corpses that she came across. It was a mark of how used she had become to all this, mainly in the mines of Moria and the Glittering Caves, that she no longer felt like throwing up when she saw a dead man, orc, Uruk, or elf. She didn't like it. It was not a good thing, in her book, to be used to this sort of thing.

Looking around, she located a mostly clean stair to her right and headed up. There were two men above the gate, both piling orc carcasses to the side, pulling them out from those of the men of Rohan. There were many boys here, between the ages of 10 and 16. Sarah shuddered, and then shifting Alric on her hip, bent down to start looking for his brother, Haleth.

Alric started squirming, burying his face in her shoulder. "Go 'way! Go 'way!" he told her. "Al'ic go 'way."

She rubbed him up and down on his back. "Shh little guy, we'll go away soon."

He started to cry and try to get down. Sarah was busy trying to hold the squirming toddler, so it is no surprise that she didn't notice Aragorn coming up behind her. She jumped when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

"Ah! Oh, Aragorn. Hey." She gave a wan smile, and then immediately turned her attention back to Alric. "Baby! Will… you… please… stop… wiggling! There!" She caught him under her arm like an American football and pinned him in place.

"Sarah," Aragorn began. "We are riding to Isenguard, and Gandalf advised that you come with us."

"Gandalf!" she exclaimed, and then hit herself on her forehead with her free hand. "Of course Gandalf. Anyway, I need to find this little guy's big brother. Do you know where I might find a Haleth son of Hama?"

Aragorn's face looked very grave, and Sarah's heart began to sink down to her toes again. "He is with the wounded," he told her. "Inside the keep."

Wordlessly Sarah nodded, turned, and hurried down the steps, her feet carrying her in the direction of the ramp to the keep.


	27. In Which Grace Hates Bunny-Killers

(Grace POV)

"You are twisting again." Grace glanced at Halbarad.

"My hips?" she asked.

He nodded and stood up, coming over to where she was standing. Ever since his arm had been injured, Halbarad had been prevented from riding with the rest of the Dunedain. Feeling cooped up, he had turned to teaching Grace to use her bow.

Placing his good hand gently on her shoulder, Halbarad turned her slightly to the right, straightening out her posture.

"Now draw back… slowly," he told her, "slowly… and release!" With a thud the arrow slammed into the wooden target, a bit off center. It was taking a while, but Grace was slowly improving. She still remembered Sarah's last words to her. _I'll see you in Gondor_. Clearly her sister believed that she would get to Minas Tirith before Sarah made it back to Rivendell.

"And again," Halbarad said, using his sling-less hand to guide her into position. Trying to make it one smooth motion, as she had seen the other elves do when practicing, Sarah reached into her quiver, drew forth an arrow, and placed it on the bow. Halbarad let go and took a step back, giving her a nod.

Remembering all the instruction that she had had from 'Dan, 'Ro, and Halbarad, Grace drew the string back slowly to her ear, aimed at the next target, and released. As it left the string, a gust of wind sprang up and blew it away. It hit the target, just not the one that she was aiming at.

"Arg!" she cried. "Not again!" It was not the first time that this had happened.

With an encouraging smile, Halbarad tilted his head towards her quiver, encouraging her to go again. Sighing, she complied. These weeks in Rivendell she had noticed a slight decline in her temper, one that she had been told time and time again was too hot, she wasn't so quick to get angry at others – or arrows.

This time it entered the correct target, the one on the far right. There were six targets set up, arrayed in a line across the foot of the field. The goal was that she would not be in the habit of firing a gauging shot before really shooting, but be able to shoot at targets quickly, efficiently, and without pauses. It was working, at least a bit, except when there was wind. That was another bad habit they were trying to overcome. It was working, too – except when it wasn't.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon past quickly, and before long Bilbo was there to collect Grace for tea. He had almost adopted her, the lone young person in Rivendell. Both had the same worries, both had relatives and friends away on a quest of which there was little hope of returning. Grace had shared with him the fact that the last book in the series was called 'the Return of the King', but that didn't account for anyone except the Dunadan.

After tea, Bilbo feel asleep while retelling one of his adventures, something that he did often, and, after tucking his blanket around him, Grace got up to take a walk. She left a note, painstakingly written out in Tengwar runes, saying that she was going up into the pine woods and would be back in time for dinner, changed into a slightly shorter gown, took her Sindarin grammar, and headed up the trail to the wooded hill.

As she crested the ridge she came upon a tall pine, one with low, easy to reach branches. Tucking her book into her belt she grabbed one of these and swung up, climbing from branch to branch until she found a comfortable perch. Untucking her book, she opened it and found her place, but did not read yet, she was content to just sit here and watch the birds flit from tree to tree, building nests and feeding their young.

A pair of rabbits hopped across the forest floor together, playing happily. She grinned at them, careful not to make any noise. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there came the unmistakable whoosh of an arrow. With a soft thud it buried itself into the body of one of the beasts. With a startled jump, the other bounded away into the forest.

Out of the trees stepped a young elf, carrying a bow, another arrow already fitted to the string. Despite his age, he already sported the warrior braids that Grace had seen on others around Rivendell. They were of a different pattern, she realized, like Glorfindel's were, but definitely not Gondolin's pattern. She wondered where he was from, and how long he had been travelling – his tunic was practically in tatters, and there was some sort of bandage on his back. Well, there was only one way to find out. Replacing her book, she slipped out of the tree and onto the ground.

* * *

(Christopher POV)

The next day dawned rosy-fair, a few birds chirping in the trees. Christopher dawned rather later. By the time he woke up, the sun was already high in the sky. The pain in his back had dulled a bit, no longer burning, more of a dull aching, as had the ache in his shoulders. Slowly he let himself down from the tree, taking care not to touch his back to anything. Once his feet were firmly on the ground he stood for a moment, a hand on the tree trunk, swaying slightly. He became aware that he was very, very, very thirsty.

Turning to his left, he continued in the direction that he had been going the night before, hoping to come to a water source before too long. After almost a half hour of stumbling though the forest, he came to a stream. Or rather, he came to a deep gully, and down below his feet there was a stream. The water ran merrily down below, way out of his reach. Christopher sat down heavily. His mouth was parched, he felt light headed, and he somehow had to get down a cliff to the only source of water anywhere nearby.

He cast about for anything that could possibly help him. Nothing. There were plenty of trees, but nothing to tie to one, the only thing that might work, his belt, was with the orcs, along with his sword, his bow, and his food and his map. It was enough to drive him crazy.

Turning to the right, he continued up the stream, walking along the cliff, looking for a place where it sloped down that he could climb down. After another half hour of walking, he came to steps that had been cut into the rock. They were giant steps, hewn from the stone by the hands of very large trolls, but that didn't matter to the young elf. All that mattered was getting down to the water.

Swiftly he climbed down, as swiftly as he might. It took a bit. He had to lower himself from step to step, taking care not to scratch his open back, and it didn't help that his arms were so sore, especially around the shoulders. Eventually, though, he made it down, stumbled towards the water, and lay there with his head in it, just drinking long and deep.

Christopher forced himself to move his head away, too much water after such a long time of nothing would only make him sick. He didn't move from where he had flopped on his stomach, though, and just lay in the moss at the bank of the stream, sleeping the rest of the day and the entire night away.

* * *

He woke with the sun on the next day, feeling very much refreshed. Using a bit of his remaining tatters of tunic, namely the sleeve, he made a rough bandage for his back, and then began to follow the stream south and west. His memory was returning, and his mind wasn't in such a brain fog anymore - he could now clearly remember the maps that he had been shown before leaving Lothlorien, and he thought that he knew where he was. It was the Loudwater, the stream the flowed passed Imladris, if he followed this, then he would eventually come to the elven city, and would be able to deliver his message. He was glad to be near the end of his journey, he was exhausted, and wondered why he had ever wanted to even leave his beloved Golden Wood.

For the rest of the day he followed the stream, stopping periodically to clean and re-wrap his back, as best he could, as it was rather hard to reach. Mainly he bathed in the stream, lowering his back in and out of the water, and gasping as it stung.

He ate some of the vegetation that grew along the way. He found a patch of mint, and there was clover and dandelions near the stream, which he gladly partook of.

* * *

Christopher squinted his eyes and bent his head as the sun began to sink into the west, coming in at a slant directly into his eyes.

Curling up in a small ball, he fell asleep with his front to the cliff. He hadn't noticed it yet, but the cliff was beginning to slope down, and already if you stood at the top of it you could, or at least an elf could, jump from the top to the bottom safely. Not that you would want to, of course.

Waking once more from sleep, he bathed again in the water, drank, ate some of the clover that he had picked the day before, and continued on his way. It was about mid-day when the cliff melted completely into the surrounding hills and woods. A few trees now grew along the banks, some with long, strong branches, just right for making a bow. Christopher was delighted. Now he might be able to eat something other than a few sparse plants. Talking a short rest from walking (he was already aware that he was going a lot slower than he was accustomed to), he selected one of the stout limbs, and using his knife, cut the branch off of the tree. Sitting down on the bank of the stream, he tugged six strands of his hair from his head, not batting an eye at the short, pinching pain.

With practiced fingers he braided these together into a long string, long enough to string his bow. After he had cut a notch into the wood at both ends, he tied this string around the thin branch, sticking one end of the bow in the ground while he bent it down. With a happy smile he held his creation at arm's length. Now all he need were arrows.

Casting a considering look at the trees, he approached them, and, finding a few suitable off-shoots, cut them from the main branches and sharpened the ends. There was nothing to fletch them with, though, so he regretfully bound them to the shaft of the bow and set off once again, still following the stream.

It began to bend, this time more sharply than it had been. It passed between two hills, both sloping down to its moss-covered banks.

Christopher climbed one of these, hoping to see Imladris from where he was – he assumed that he was very close. He could not spy it, but what he could see was a pine forest (another one?) a ways off, and over another small ribbon of a stream. Grinning, he set off for this, though not before grabbing one last drink of water. In this forest there was very likely going to be game, or at least a few rabbits that he might be able to roast. Night fell when he was almost to the edge of the stream, there was about a quarter of a mile left. With a smile, he walked faster, picking up his place, eager to reach the water. He back was once again beginning to burn. He hoped that he wasn't getting an infection, but all of the medical supplies that he had brought (not a lot) where in his pack, and his pack was still in the hands of the orcs. He shuddered at the reminder of them. Orcs were awful, inhuman beings, the worst to all the evils that Morgoth the Cruel had wrought.

The trees ran down to the water on the other side, almost directly down. In fact, a few of their roots were even in the water itself. It was not as swift or wide as the Bruiden, for which Christopher as very grateful. Here he once again took off his tattered tunic and bathed. The cool water was most welcome on his burning back. The heat was rising, and he was beginning to wonder if he had a fever. He wouldn't be surprised, but there was really nothing he could do about it at the moment, there was nothing to be found, most of the leaves were barley on the trees yet. He began to wish for Silmewen's remedies, before he shook himself. Nanna would know what to do here, but she wasn't here, and he was, and he need to sleep, and then to find food on the morrow, or he would starve. Clutching his bow to himself, he fell asleep.

His sleep was troubled by uneasy dreams, dreams of Dragon fire in Loth Lorien of the blossom, and then they shifted, coming out of flames to rain, and metal contraptions to bear you from one place to another, driving endlessly on an asphalt road. With this in his mind, he jerked awake, for a moment puzzled as to where he was. This wasn't a freeway, he was by the banks of a swift-flowing stream, gurgling away a safe distance away from him, in case of flash floods. Feeling calmed, he fell back asleep, this time imitating a log.

* * *

Christopher was awoken by a bird chirruping beside him. It was singing about spring as it busily scratched in the dirt for a worm. He lay staring sleepily at it, completely still, until it flew away, its prize clutched in its beak.

Christopher sat up. His world reeled, he felt sick and light headed, not to mention very hot. Slowly he pushed himself off of the ground and wandered over to the stream, flopping down at its banks to lap up the water with his hands.

When he was finished drinking, he stood, supporting himself with the root of a large tree. Carefully feeling for his footing, he made his way across the water and to the other side, climbing up into the pine woods triumphantly. With the sun overhead, he strung his bow and proceeded to walk silently into the forest.

He passed a glade with a deer and her fawn grazing in it, but passed them by, preferring something smaller, and without a young one to care for. He wasn't _that _hungry. He couldn't get far, as he had to return to the stream at noon, abet a bit further down it then he had started, so that he could change his bandages and get another drink. It was very important to stay hydrated, he could hear Silmewen's voice inside his head, "especially when one is going without food". It wasn't until late afternoon that he found a pair of rabbits feeding in a still, quiet glade. Slowly, ever so slowly, he drew back his bowstring to his cheek, sighted down the arrow, and released.

There was a soft 'swish' as it flew through the air, and then a 'thunk' as it buried itself in one of the rabbits. The other ran off in a great hurry. Smiling to himself, Christopher fitted another arrow to his bow, just in case, and then came after the kill, picking it up by the neck. He had just straightened up where there came a sound from above, a rustling in the trees.

Startled, he looked up. There was an elf maiden in the tree, tucking a book into her belt and dropping out of the pine.

She stalked up to him and then began to give him a piece of her mind – in Westron.

"Who do you think you are?" she demanded. "You had no right to kill that bunny, it was just playing, has it done you _any _harm whatsoever? I think not. How dare you?" She reached over and snatched the rabbit out of his hand, tucking it into the crook of her arm and cradling it like a baby.

Christopher stood there like one struck dumb. The first friendly creature or person that he had run across since leaving Lothlorien and she had to be _this, this_, well, he wasn't quite sure what to call her. Still staring at the rabbits, his stomach let out a distinct gurgle.

"I haven't had anything to eat in five days," he moaned, mainly to himself, and also partly to convince her to give her back his dinner. The maid looked startled.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, her tone completely changed. "I had no idea." She paused, considering. "It's quicker to get back to Imladris than to cook your rabbit here. Come on," with a jerk of her head, the maid lead the way down through the trees, descending into a sort of valley. Christopher followed, taking care not to show his back.

"What might your name be," he inquired, wanting something other than 'maid' to call her.

She started, and then turned back to him, walking backwards down the hill as she talked. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I should have introduced myself. I'm called Ithilwen, no one seems to remember my real name." Ithilwen sounded a trifle annoyed at this, and Christopher didn't ask.

"Ci hannon, thank you", he told her. "I am called Anessen Rumilion – ware tree!"

Ithilwen spun around, almost tripping on the hem of her dress, just in time, too. If he hadn't warned her then she would have run straight into a tree.

"Thank you! She told him, very relieved. "A pleasure to meet you." She glanced around at a few of the trees. "We should be back in about ten minutes. Can you hold on that long?"

Christopher nodded, and then ventured a question. "Do you know if there is anywhere that I might obtain medical attention?"

The answer was emphatic. "Yes! Why, do you need it?"

"A bit," Christopher replied, "My back got a bit scratched up on my travels."

Ithilwen nodded understandingly. "Okay, I'm pretty sure Miril should be able to fix you up – ah!" she broke off. "There we are!"

They stood at the lip of a beautiful valley, full of waterfalls and gardens, and, in the center, that which has been described as the last – or the first – Homely House. Christopher had never been so glad to see anything in his life.

Wearily, he stumbled after Ithilwen into the valley, down a flight of steps, though a garden, and into the House. He sank down on a near-by bench for a moment. Ithilwen came and sat next to him, looking worried.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

He nodded, giving an affirmative answer, and then asked another question. "Where might I find Lord Elrond, and Halbarad of the Dunedain? I have an urgent message to deliver."

Ithilwen stood up briskly. "Halbarad should actually be with Lord Elrond at this time of day, and Lord Elrond is in his study. It's straight down this hall, up the next flight of stairs, and then to the left. I'll go find Miril for you." She ran off towards the gardens.

Christopher looked after her retreating back, and his rabbit that she still carried, for a good while, even after she disappeared, and then got up and walked in the direction that she had indicated, keeping one hand on the wall at all times for balance.

Soon he came to an ornate door, carved with the likeness of a great tree. He assumed that this was Lord Elrond's room. Raising a hand, he knocked on the door.

"Come in," came a voice from the other side. He pushed on the wood, and the door swung slowly and silently on well-oiled hinges. Standing in the room were two men, one of the race of men, one of the race of the elves. Both looked slightly surprised to see a young elf dressed in a rather tattered version of the Lorien fashion standing in the door.

Christopher bowed. "My Lords," he began, "I was sent with a message from my Lord Celeborn." He stood straight and waited for the word to continue. Lord Elrond gestured with his hand for him to go on.

"Aragorn has need of his kindred," he told them, in a strong voice, "Let the Dunedain ride to him in Rohan!" His message delivered, the world went back, and Christopher collapsed.


	28. Oh No! We've Got to Go Through It!

(Maggie POV)

Darkness surrounded her, an inky black night. In the distance she saw a faint light, a red glow on the horizon. It grew and grew and grew, until it filled all the sky, casting a red shadow upon all around her. Then she saw It. The Eye. Sauron. It just looked at her, great, terrible, and deadly. Maggie felt like an insect. She clutched desperately at the Ring, holding to her chest, but the pull was strong, and though she thought that she was crying out "No! Never", her hand, of its own accord, broke the Ring from its chain and stretched it out towards the fallen Maia.

Then the dream changed. The light, and the Eye, was gone. Once more cool blackness overtook her. Then she saw, as if looking through a window, a small vision of herself sitting at a table, and across the table from her was her mother, and sitting beside her was her brother, seven once again, and there, sitting next to her mother, was a tall, laughing figure that she barely remembered. His dark hair and eyes bore into her memory, accusing, saying that she had forgotten, forgotten him, forgotten who he was. She opened her mouth to defend herself, but now words came out. She tried to say "I love you". She tried to say "I'm sorry". She tried to say "Please forgive me, I miss you, I miss you so badly", but nothing came out. She could not form the words, only stand there, looking down at the family sitting round the table and cry.

A voice came from somewhere that she couldn't see – it was Christopher's accusing tone.

"You brought us here, you made us loose this."

Her eyes were once again drawn to the vision of the family.

More words came, this time in her mother's gentle voice, full of sadness and sorrow.

"I, I miss our family. I miss us. You made this happen, child. Can you fix it, my daughter? Can you fix it?"

Then there was silence. The vision was taken away, and the dark returned for a third time. Now Maggie perceived that she was lying at the base of a cliff, a pale, spider like creature climbing down its face. A pale hand reached out to her, its spindly fingers closing around her throat.

* * *

Maggie jolted into wakefulness. Her dream was true, and her world was turning dark. She couldn't breathe, there was a horrible hand squeezing her throat, squeezing it closed. She couldn't make a sound as she chocked to death, staring into Gollum's pale, malevolent eyes. Darkness encroached upon her vison, an inky blackness. Maggie's hands gripped at the long fingers, trying to pry them apart. She kicked and struggled, but couldn't make a sound.

Rather predictably, Maggie began to panic. Her legs flailed about on the ground, and there was a sharp pain in her foot that went pretty much unnoticed.

Suddenly the pressure around her throat ceased, and she could breathe again. This she took full advantage of, taking deep gulps of air, lying on the rock with her chest heaving. She vaguely became aware of someone bending over her, saying her name over and over again.

"Maggie! Miss Maggie! Maggie?"

Strings brushed across her face, tickling her cheeks. They were the ties of Sam's cloak. Maggie reached up a hand and brushed them away – she absolutely hated tickling. There was a sigh of relief, and a hand was slid beneath her back, raising her to a sitting position.

Slowly, Maggie opened her eyes. The moon shone above, illuminating the small area under the overhang. There was a wiggling bundle to the right, one that was flopping every which way. Bent over her were two very concerned hobbit faces, one belonging to Samwise Gamgee, the other to Frodo Baggins. Maggie raised a hand to massage her sore throat.

"What happened?" she asked, or rather, tried to ask. All that came out was a hoarse whisper. Immediately Sam sprang up and retrieved her water skin from her bag, holding the opening to her lips. She drank several greedy gulps, and then pulled back with a thankful nod.

This time she did not attempt to speak out loud, but rather whisper very softly, almost too softly for the Hobbits to hear. "What happened?"

"Gollum," Sam replied, with a black look, glancing over at the wiggling blanket-bundle. "He tried attackn' you in your sleep.

Maggie's hand involuntarily leaped to her throat, grasping at the dangerous jewelry that hung there. She could the great weight that had been taken off of her back when her fingers touched the hard, familiar circle of the Ring. In her mind's eye she saw the scrabbling creature, pawing at – Maggie quickly broke off that train of thought. She did _not _like where it was going.

Instead she turned her mind back to her two friends. "What are we going to do now?" she asked, whispering once again.

For an answer, Sam looked to Frodo. Frodo looked troubled.

"I wish Bilbo had killed the vile creature when he had the chance," he said finally, "but now, I can't kill him, nor can I tie him up and leave him. But can we take him with us? It seems unwise."

Clearly the Hobbit was thinking out loud, but Maggie was grateful. She was no more well-disposed to Gollum then any of them, but she knew they needed him, and needed him terribly. They would never get through the marshes, let alone to Cirith Ungol, without him as their guide. Well, hopefully he would listen to her. She had saved his life the other night, after all, and she hadn't really done much this night. She might even end up being 'Mistress Rivers'. Maggie wrinkled her nose at the thought. It'd better not go _that_ far.

Anyway, she now had to do _something_ about him, and soon. Both Frodo and Sam were discussing what to do with him, and she didn't want them to decide that he was too dangerous to let live, despite the fact that Frodo was ill-disposed towards killing him.

Maggie reached up a hand and tapped each on their shoulders. Both turned to look at her, and leaned in a little closer, so that they might hear what she was trying to say.

"I have an idea," she told them. They both gave her 'go on' looks. "Gollum's been to Mordor, right?" They nodded, plainly wondering where this was going. "Then he probably knows where to go. And didn't – " now she had to take a break, reaching for the water skin that Sam still held. After a moment Maggie continued. "Didn't Strider find him in the Dead Marshes? That means he probably know a way through them." She could see that the idea was taking shape in both of their minds. Encouraged, she made her offer.

"Let me talk to him. Both of you have tried to kill him. I haven't. He might like me more." Now Maggie was going off of a dog book that she had read once, about how dogs respond better to those who have never hurt them, as opposed to those who have beaten them. A stretch, she knew, but hey, what works on dogs probably works on Gollums.

Frodo and Sam looked rather wary at this offer, for a good reason. He _had_ tried to kill them multiple times. Of course they weren't happy about letting the person who was the reason that they had been attacked talk to the attack_er_.

In the end, though, they agreed to allow her to do it, on the condition that she waited until morning. They would take turns keeping watch, and allow her to sleep, and then in the morning she could talk. Thankful that she had made even a little bit of headway, Maggie acquiesced, and soon snuggled back down in her blankets. She was soon asleep, tired out from the attack and subsequent discussion.

* * *

The next day dawned misty and grey, just like all the days before for what seemed like weeks. When she awoke, Maggie's throat was feeling much better, though not all the way healed. After a quick bite and a sip of water, all three hobbit's approached the bag. By now in had lain still, though that was fooling nobody. All with swords (or knives) at the ready, Frodo and Sam opened the bag, spilling the bound Gollum out at Maggie's feet.

He was thoroughly trussed up, his hands bound to his feet, and those tied to his torso. A gag was stuffed into his mouth. Using a bit of flip-flopping, he managed to get himself into a position where he could see who was speaking to him.

Maggie crouched down so that she could look him in his pale, lamp-like eyes, and then slowly and deliberately, she tossed her knife behind her. Thought she was not looking up, Maggie could feel the worried looks of the two grown-ups. She ignored them.

"Gollum," she began, "You know the way to Mordor?"

Gollum visibly cringed at the mention of the place, but nodded and hissed a yes. Maggie continued.

"Do you know the best way into Mordor?" Once again, he seemed reluctant to answer. With a warning glance, Maggie carefully tugged the cloth out of his mouth, and then pressed him again with the same question.

"Yessss!" he wined, and then looked pitifully at Maggie. "Take it off uss!" he begged, indicating the ropes bound round him.

Maggie narrowed her eyes at him. What had happened in the book and movie were now of no use to her, so much had changed. She realized once again why Sarah was so keen on keeping things the same.

"How do I know you won't run off?" she asked. By now both Sam and Frodo were shaking their heads at her violently. She ignored them.

"We will swear to you," Gollum promised. "We will swears to you on the precious!"

An image of Gollum pawing at the Ring leaped unbidden into Maggie's mind. On the precious was definitely out.

"Not on the precious," she told him sternly. "By it. Swear by the precious."

"We swears," he hissed. "We swears to serve the master of the precious!" Maggie nodded.

"You will take us to the best spot for entering Mordor." She then bent down, drew her knife, and then, despite the protests of the others, began to cut the ropes. Suddenly she stopped. This was Sam's gift, she didn't want to ruin it, but one look at the knots told her that they were horribly complicated. She looked up at Sam. "Do you have any idea how to undo these?" she asked. "They're impossible!"

He nodded, and then bending down untied the knots for her. Gollum was now acting quite like a dog, it was actually rather amusing in a creepy way. He practically bounced around in his eagerness to be off.

"Come on hobbitess!" The change was truly astounding. He obviously still didn't like Frodo and Sam, Frodo especially, but he was true to his word. Over the rest of the day he lead them by steep paths out of the supposedly impassible Emyn Muil, and down to the bog.

* * *

Walking through a bog is every bit as unpleasant as it sounds, as Maggie, Frodo, and Sam soon found out to their dismay. It was awful. The stench was everywhere, the flies would not leave them alone, and there was a cousin of the neekerbreekers that liked to inhabit the clumps of grass. It was definitely worse than the marshes outside of Buckland. Much worse.

Maggie never dwelt too long on that awful passage. She remembered some of it, but most she tried to wash out of her brain.

There was one day in the middle, though, that still gave her nightmares, and a great aching in her shoulder. The day that the Nazgul passed overhead. They had stopped for the night, though you couldn't tell it for the fog. They were rolling out their blankets, and Gollum was off a little ways looking for something edible.

Sam had shared out some of the lembas bread, and Frodo was digging through his pack for something, when there came a terrible screech from overhead. It was horrible. It seemed to tear right through you, chilling the bone and sending shivers o terror through their hearts.

Everything was a haze of pain for Maggie. It was awful. In her mind's eye, between flashes of the real world, she could see the black shapes of the riders bending over her, only they were black no longer. Instead she could see straight through their wrappings, like shown in the movie, only, there wasn't anything further than the Peter Jackson Lord of the Rings movies from her mind at the moment. Everything was horribly, terribly real.

The next thing she knew Maggie was being dragged by Frodo under a small scraggly tree in an attempted to hide them from searching eyes, eyes roving overhead.

Gollum's voice wailed in the background, though Maggie could not make out more than a hissing, the wailing screeching of the Nazgul was filling all her brain.

Suddenly, everything was cold and clear. Give up the Ring, and all would be well. The pain would be gone, and she would be back with her family, everything would be as it was. Just give up the ring, and it would be alright. Give up the Ring. Give up the Ring. Give up the Ring. Almost of its own violation Maggie's hand crept towards her breast, where the dreadful Ring dangled, the fate of the whole of Middle-earth. It was dragged away by an outside force, and the screeches died away.

A soft soothing voice spoke in her mind, or outside of it – she couldn't tell.

"It's alright, dearest."

It sounded like her mother's. Mom? Where was she? She wanted her Mom. Now she could tell where the voice was coming from, it was Sam and Frodo.

"Maggie?" they asked. "Miss Maggie? It is gone, it has passed."

Slowly she came too. The concerned hobbits practically force fed her some water and a wafer of lembas. The water helped more than she could believe. The strength of the elf-country, of Lothlorien was in it, and it filled all her limbs. Gladly she gobbled it down. Soon they moved on again, as Gollum was, quite understandably, in a bit of a hurry.

"Come hobbites," he ordered. "The other side is very close.

* * *

They were walking through the Marsh, single file. Gollum in the front leading, Sam behind him, Maggie after that, and Frodo bringing up the rear. All of a sudden, directly before Maggie, Sam froze, calling out in a bit of a panic.

"There are dead things, dead faces in the water!"

Gollum turned around with vague interest. "All dead. All rotten," he began, in a sing-songy voice. "Elves and men and orcses. A great battle long ago. The Dead Marshes. Yes, yes that is their name. This way." He began to lope off once more. "Don't follow the lights," he warned as they filed after him.

In front of Maggie, Sam tripped on another hole. She hurried up to him and gave him a hand. Sam wrinkled his nose at the smell the puncture had produced. Gollum glanced behind and gave another warning.

"Careful now," he said, "or hobbits go down to join the dead ones and light little candles of their own."

Maggie scowled at him. "Thank you, Sméagol, for that lovely image," she muttered under her breath. No one heard her. As she glanced behind, she could see Frodo standing still, gazing into the water. "Great," she groaned. She opened her mouth to call his name, but was beaten to it by Sam.

"Frodo!"

Maggie flipped her head back and forth, her curls bouncing, and ran to where the older hobbit was standing. Luckily, nothing had happened so far, and Sam was just behind her. She took Frodo's arm in her hands and tugged gently.

Frodo blinked and looked around, as if coming out of a dream. "Wha– " he started, and then stopped, nodding his head at the others. By now Gollum had come up behind them to find out what was taking them so very long.

"Don't. Follow. The lights!" he hissed, annoyed, and stalked off. The three turned and followed him once again, plodding into the twilight.


	29. Aftermath

(Sarah POV)

After a short while Sarah reached the make-shift hospital. The door was open slightly, and she was able to slip through the crack. The whole room was lined with the wounded, and bustling with those tending to them – mostly elves, a few men, and one or two women. Sarah set Alric down, and was about to grab his hand when he broke into a run, heading towards one of the beds.

"Hall-a! Hall-a!"

Sarah gathered up her skirt and followed him. For a two year old, Alric was surprisingly fast. She reached him just as he stopped by the pallet, on which lay a young boy, covered in blood. A woman stood nearby. Sarah looked at her inquiringly, a feeling of dread growing inside her middle. Sadly the woman shook her head.

By now Alric had grabbed Haleth's shoulder and was shaking him, calling his name. "Hall-a? Hall-a?"

Sarah knelt beside him and drew the toddler to herself. Alric tried to get back to 'Hall-a'. Haleth stirred and opened his eyes. His breathing was labored, and he very clearly didn't have long.

"Al-ric," he said, so quietly that Sarah could barely hear him. "Alric-baby."

Alric smiled at his big brother. "Come play?" he asked. "Come play wi' Al-ic?"

Haleth moved his head slightly back and forth. "No Alric-baby. Hall-a cannot play. I love you." He smiled, and then moved his eyes to look up at Sarah, who by now had a fresh tears staining her cheeks.

An idea suddenly popped into her head, and her hand was instantly patting her side, feeling for her cordial. It wasn't there. It wasn't there. Sarah's eyes widened, but then she stopped her increasingly frantic patting and leaned down to catch what Haleth was trying to say.

"Please," he started to cough up a lung. Finally he managed to finish his sentence. "Please take care of Alric. Plea– " He fell silent, and his mouth and chest stopped moving.

Choking back tears, Sarah nodded. "I will," she whispered, and then moving her hand, slid his eye lids closed. "I will."

The woman who had been tending to him nodded at her, and then turned to the next patient, whoever they may be.

Of all the times to not have her cordial on her. Sarah bit her lip and set her chin, willing it not to wobble. Still kneeling, she picked up Alric, now her charge, and placed him on her hip. "Say goodbye to Haleth, little one," she told him.

In completely innocent baby fashion Alric waved at his brother. "Bye-bye Hall-a," he said with a grin. As they left the hall, he looked up and Sarah and patted her cheeks with his soft hands.

"No cwy," he told her, "Hall-a sweep!"

Sarah blinked and looked at the little one, her chin trembling. She nodded, biting her lip. "That's right Alric, Haleth is sleeping." She hugged him to her chest, and he wrapped his arms around her neck.

"Hug!" he exclaimed happily. "Hug!"

Together the two of them walked towards the gate where Aragorn stood next to a horse, his hand on the bridle, scanning the crowed. Sarah came up to him.

"I have to stay with Alric," she said. "Hal-Haleth entrusted him to me."

Aragorn looked at her and the child and smiled a small smile, not quite happy, but not quite sad either. He placed a hand on her shoulder, the one without Alric's head on it.

"He goes to sit beside his fathers," he told her. "He is happy."

Sarah nodded, and then leaned against Aragorn. Said dunadan wrapped an arm around her, and then lead her to where Eowyn was standing watching them.

With her head buried in Aragorn's tunic, Sarah did not see Eowyn and he exchange a look above her and nod to each other.

Aragorn touched the back of her head, and then untangled her arms from his body. "I must go now," he told her gently. "They wait for me to begin, and they will not wait much longer. We will ride for Edoras if all goes well at Isengard.

"It will," Sarah informed him. "Everything's fine there. If I remember correctly, there's even Longbottom leaf."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow – he looked surprisingly like Elrond when he did that. "Indeed?" he asked. "I look forward to it. For now then, farewell."

Sarah set Alric down on the ground and gave Aragorn a quick bear hug around the middle. "See you at Edoras," she said, completely assured this time, and with no worries. It was a wonderful thing.

Aragorn turned to walk back to his horse, but paused as Sarah called after him. "Tell Gandalf hi for me!"

With a nod, he mounted his horse and rode out of the gate. Sarah watched him until he was out of sight around a bend, and then turned to look at Eowyn.

"We leave for Edoras in one day," Eowyn told her, "Those of us who are fit for travel, or do not live here in Helm's Deep."

Sarah nodded her acknowledgement, and then looked considering. "Is there anything you need me to do my Lady?" she asked.

"Yes," Lady Eowyn answered. "Those tending to the wounded may need some assistance."

"Oh, right!" Sarah barely stopped her hand from touching her forehead in a face palm. She had the equivalent of Lucy's cordial, so many lives could be saved that wouldn't be otherwise. She took off at a run for the caves, where she thought she had probably left it. She was almost around the corner when she remembered that she had left Alric. Stopping abruptly, she spun around and ran back, scooping him up and continuing the way she had come.

* * *

The caves seemed very empty as Sarah stepped into them. There were only a few people gathering up their belongings. Despite the urgency of her errand, she slowed to a walk, not eager to break the silence. The bottle was where she had left it, sitting on a small rock. Sarah scooped it up and placed in on the belt. She felt the now-familiar weight of it settle in about her waited. It was somehow very comforting.

Sifting Alric to her other arm, Sarah walked out of the caves. Soon she came to the hall again. There were more people now, mostly on the floor, and those tending to them seemed very hassled. Sarah stood in the doorway looking around at all that was going on, wondering who to go to first.

"Dow'! Dow'!" Christopher began to squirm in her arms. "Get dow'!"

Sarah set him on the floor, still hanging on the back of his little tunic as he strained to get away to somewhere. With all the chaos, Sarah most certainly did not want to risk losing him to the flood of people. She gazed over the heads, looking to see if there was anyone familiar, or if they were all strangers. There! Now she could see Orophin speaking to a rather large woman in a rough form of an apron. She held a wicked looking needle in her hand.

Reaching down, Sarah transferred her hand from Alric's tunic to his hand and began to lead him over to them. It took quite a bit of people dodging, but she soon reached the two. They didn't notice her, deeply involved in the conversation-charade that they were acting, and it was a few minutes before they were finished.

Sarah reached up and placed a hand on Orophin's shoulder, trying to get his attention. He whirled around, his hand reaching for his belt, and then relaxed.

"Suliad, Sarah, mellon-en-Anessen," he greeted, "Greetings, Sarah, friend of Anessen."

"Hey," she greeted, twisting her lips into a sort of smile, and then got right to the point. "Do you remember the Lady's gift?

"Gift?" he asked.

Sarah thought for a second, and pulled out the cordial. "Hiril Galadriel? A-a-…" she paused. The Sindarin word for gift began with an a, she was sure… there it was – maybe. "Annatar?" She waved the crystal phial in front of Orophin.

"Ma." He was nodding, so Sarah took 'ma' to be one of the many forms of 'yes'.

"It heals," she informed him. "Makes better."

Thankfully Orophin seemed to have enough of a grasp of Westron to understand what he was getting at. That, or he knew what the gifts were.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked.

Orophin tilted his head to the side with a furrowed brow. Sarah gestured around, and then shrugged her shoulders, desperately wishing that there was no such thing as a language barrier, or that all the elves spoke French, both very unlikely scenarios.

Thankfully, Orophin now understood, and he nodded his head and led the way to the nearest bed.

Lying on it was an old man. A bloody cloth was wrapped around his head, his eyes were close, and his breathing was very shallow.

"U-gwann," he told her, but Sarah didn't spend any time trying to figure it out. She dropped Alric's hand and knelt beside the man. The lion's head was soon off of the phial and she carefully measured out a drop into the man's slightly open mouth. A few anxious moments passed, and Sarah could almost hear the non-existent clock ticking away. Then, finally, his breathing leveled out and he fell into a healing sleep.

* * *

The remaining hours of the morning passed quickly, Orophin directing Sarah to those with life threatening wounds in urgent need of immediate help. He didn't allow her to administer the cordial to those with only minor injuries, or one that, while taking a while to heal, would not kill the one injured.

The sun was high in the sky when Sarah leaned back from her work. It was not nearly as busy as before, though there was a lot of bustle going on around the side filled with the still-wounded. Sarah wished she could go help them, despite the fact that the cordial was fast dwindling. After checking that Alric was still happily playing with a few blocks of wood, Sarah stood up, intending to make her way over to them. She hadn't gotten three paces when Orophin intercepted her and lead her over to a quickly dwindling pile of cloth.

"Brun laub," he told her, showing her part of an old tunic. He paused as if searching for the word, and then continued. "More…" he trailed off, and then returned more emphatically, certain of his word choice. "More brun laub."

"Old cloths?" Sarah asked, though she got exactly what he was trying to do. (i.e. distract her) "Okay, I'll go look in the caves." She paused. "Do you have rope?" she asked. It would be rather hard to take an armful of cloth along with a squirming baby all the way up from the caves. "Err… made of hithlain? Or at least, that's how you guys make it. Rope?"

Orophin looked a little lost amid the stream of English, so Sarah pantomimed tying a rope around the waist of Alric, who by now was tugging to get a way. Orophin still didn't seem to get it, so she shrugged, scooped up the baby, who squirmed, and then tried to locate the doors.

She felt gentle hands on her shoulders, turning her in the opposite direction that she had been going. Orophin's hand came into her line of vision, pointing the correct way to the door. Sarah felt her face heat up. "Right, thanks," she muttered, and then fled, doing all that she could to put distance between herself and the elf before he could see the embarrassed blush that was rapidly spreading.

The spring air stung her face as she stepped out, refreshing her and giving her new life. She took a deep gulp of this fresh air, and then began to wind her way among those busy along the walls, her feet carrying her and her charge to the caverns that she had left earlier that morning, seeking more 'brun laub'. Language barriers were so annoying.

* * *

She had only stepped into the dark area between the caves and the now blown apart wall when someone rammed into her from behind, grabbing hold of the backs of her knees and squeezing them in a hug.

"Sarah! Sarah! There you are! Mama says that we are to meet by the door of the glittering caves and have the mid-day meal, and then we are to go help those in the hall with the wounded, or at least, you and cousin Eda are. Magorinc and Papa and Uncle Déor are going to be helping the men and I get to play with the other boys. We have to stay in the caves though."

It was Wulf, of course, and his little face looked so downcast at the idea of not being able to play in the sunshine. Sarah smiled in spite of herself. Really, Wulf always made you smile no matter how sad you were, it was just a talent of his.

He now sized her free hand, barely giving a glance at the toddler on her hip. "Come on!" In true five year old fashion he dragged her over to where Sigrid and Edda were sitting. Beorn was standing over them, and Freya, Magorinc, and Déor were nowhere to be seen. As they reached the group, Freya appeared carrying a loaf of bread and a water skin.

As soon as Sarah had arrived at their spot amid a sea of families sitting down to eat, Eda sprang up to greet her.

"There you are, Sarah! I had not seen you since we left the caves. Where have you been?"

"With Aragorn," Sarah relied rather distractedly. "Do you know where I might find some old clothes or cloths that people might not want anymore? They need them for bandages up there." She gestured back and up.

"I do not know," Eda told her, "but mama or Aunt Sigrid might. Let us go ask. Oh, and let me hold Alric." With a grin she took the baby from Sarah, not taking no for an answer, and then led the way over to where her parents sat.

"Mama?" she asked, getting her mother's attention. "Do you know where we might find some old garments or blankets? I believe Sarah was sent to fetch some."

For an answer, Freya stood up and reached over to a basket that she had carried with her from her village. She rummaged for a moment, and then she pulled out a thin grey blanket, much worn, that looked as if it would fall apart at any moment.

"I have kept this, as it is not smart to just throw wool away," she told the girls, "but this is a worthy use of it." She handed it over to Sarah, but not before taking a few loves out of the basket and wrapping them in the blanket. "Take theses to those working, they will be greatly appreciated. We will keep the small one here."

"Thank you!" Sarah exclaimed. It was rather hard work to keep track of an energetic two year old, and hard work on her arm to hold a squirming one. "See you in a few minutes," she told them, and turning on her heel hurried off back the way that she had come.

* * *

"I am exhausted," she realized, as she toped the flight of steps. She yawned, but continued on to the hall. Once she arrived, the blanket was taken off her hands by a delighted worker, one who thanked profusely for the loaves, as well as the large blanket to tear into strips.

"We were in sore need of more bandages," she said as she carried it back to a pile. "Thank you most kindly."

Sarah nodded, not quite sure what to say, then decided on "It was no problem, but I have to go, Freya is expecting me."

The worker was no longer paying any attention to her, having gone off to tear the poor blanket into strips. With a shrug, Sarah began to find her way back to the door. It was a slightly easier task than last time. Most of the wounded by now had been brought in, and even with that, there were quite a few less than before. Sarah tried not to think of that. She did not want to know the reason, and hoped that it was just because they had whatever cut or broken bone bandaged and then they were released, not the other, sadder prospect. If it was the latter, she was going to kill Orophin for not allowing her to heal them.

The way down to the caves was clearer, and one could walk it without having to step over bodies, either of men, or of orcs, or of elves. Sarah paused a moment, glancing out in the morning light over the parapet down into the front entrance, as it were, of Helms Deep. She could see there men chained together bay their wastes helping to pile the orcs by the door, while others helped to carry the carcasses by and to a big pile over at the edge the wood. The wood! Sarah had never seen Fangorn, save in the movies, but she imagined that this was just a smaller part of it. She wished very much that she could see the Ents, they were one of her favorite characters in the book, so old, and so very, very, very wise. But alas, there were no Ent-faces peaking over the tree tops, they were all busy inside. Glancing back at the Deeping Coomb, Sarah could see also another group of the wild looking men, tied together at the waste, who were digging a deep hole, the same on the other side. Going from her knowledge of the book, Sarah easily guessed what those were for.

She quickly turned her face away. She _really_ didn't want to think of that. It took a moment, but she soon reached the plain-like area, not covered in bits of wall from Saruman's bomb, and located her adopted family – no easy task. The whole area was covered with people, mainly family's, taking a break and a bite. Beorn's was packing up already, but they had saved her a loaf, a loaf which Alric proudly presented to her.

"Sa-ah!" he called, standing up and stretching out both arms. "Sa-ah! Where Hal-a?"

Sarah scooped him up.

"He has been asking that a lot," Eda told her. "Asking for Hala."

Sarah nodded, biting her lip. How does one explain to a baby that his beloved brother is gone? "Haleth has gone to a big hall," she finally decided. "You'll see him one day, but it will be a long while, okay?"

"No Hal-a?" Alric asked, and Sarah's heart broke. "No Ha-la" she told him, and then hugged him close, willing herself not to cry again. "No Ha-la."

"Wan' Hall-a!" Alric shouted, and then burst into tears. The others looked on with sympathetic gazes, but did not interfere.

In a short while, Alric had worn himself out, and fell asleep sucking his thumb with his head on Sarah's shoulder. Carefully detaching her right hand from supporting his weight, and shifting it to her left hand, Sarah reached it out for a piece of bread. Her unspoken request was quickly granted, and she was soon in the possession of a hunk of a loaf. This she ate quickly, as the others were already done, and Freya, Sigrid, Eda, and Wulf were waiting for her to finish before they left. It was gone in a very short while, and then Eda lead the way for Wulf and Alric (Sarah carrying him) back to the caves, taking them to where the other children were congregated. They were being watched by a few comfortable grandmothers. Sarah shrugged off her Lothlorien cloak and wrapped Alric in it, making a make-shift pillow for his head, and lay him down beside one of the minders.

Once both boys were situated, the girls left, joining Freya and Sigrid in the Infirmary. The rest of the day, and well into the night, was spent helping the sick and wounded, bringing them food, wrapping wounds, holding water and utensils for the healers, and sitting beside them as they slipped away into sleep. By the end of the day, when they stumbled back to their beds, both Sarah and Eda were exhausted, worn out, and beyond crying.


	30. Many Meetings (or just three)

(Grace POV)

Grace sat beside a bed in the infirmary. There as only one occupant at this time, as all those that had come back from the raid had long since been released. She was waiting for her companion, the Lorien elf Anessen, to wake up. The last day, after looking and failing to find Halbarad she had headed to Lord Elrond's study to find the strange elf, Anessen Rumilion. She had been quite surprised to find him passed out on Lord Elrond's couch, the Lord of Imladris and Halbarad both leaning over him. That was yesterday.

According to Miril (Grace had been kicked out) it had been a stiff battle. Between blood loss, starvation, and infection, it was a wonder that Anessen did not lose his life.

Once they were out the woods, so to speak, and the Lorien elf was put into a healing sleep, Lord Elrond had come and questioned her closely. She told him what she could, which was not much. Just the ellon's name and how they had met.

Grace had been given permission to await his awakening, due to happen sometime that day. Thus it was that she was siting perched beside his bed with her book when Anessen woke up.

There was a rustle of blankets as he turned over, then a hiss of pain and a muffled curse. Grace tilted her head, considering the three words. That was a new one. Pui-en-orch. She'd have to ask 'Ro what it meant when he got back, 'Dan probably wouldn't tell her, and Bilbo and Halbarad were right out. But for now, she reminded herself, her chief concern was the elf waking up on the bed beside her.

"Where am I?" he asked, looking around. Or at least, that's what Grace thought he said. She couldn't be sure, as he had spoken in Sindarin, and a rather mangled Sindarin at that, at least to her ears.

Eh, she'd answer the question she thought it was, and then maybe figure it out from there.

"Imladris," she replied, and then switched to Westron. "You're in the Rivendell hospital-thing', she told him. "I can't remember the exact name. Are you feeling alright?"

"No," he replied, a big grouchily. "My back hurts. But other than that, I feel much better. What happened?

"You apparently collapsed in Lord Elrond's study," she told him. "You had a lot of cuts on your back, and were not in the best of shape. They carried you here, and fixed up you."

Anessen nodded. "Thank you," he said.

Grace shrugged. "It wasn't me, it was Miril and Lord Elrond. Anyway…" She trailed off, before thinking of what she had meant to ask. "What happened," she pause, "if you don't mind me asking, that is."

"I was a pe-channas," he replied, "an idiot. I ran into a bunch of rude people." He left it there. He was not going to speak of what had happened, and especially not to a lady.

"Well," Grace told him, when it seemed that no further information was forthcoming, "I'd better go find Miril, she'll want to know that you're awake."

With a faint rustle of her gown, Grace stood up and left the room, heading to the main room of the infirmary.

* * *

It didn't take long to find the older elf, now that she knew the halls so well. It was a bit confusing, at first, but now she was confidant in her ability to find her way around.

Miril was out in the garden, pulling up weeds around the carrots. Grace, unfortunately, tripped on her hem as she rounded the corner, falling face first in a small pile of thinned-out carrots.

"Ow," she grounded, rubbing her nose. "I hope I didn't break any."

Miril smiled, turning form her work and helping Grace to stand, She glently bent down and lifted the carrots. "No, she replied in the negative, "They are all whole. Now, where were you going in such a hurry?"

"Looking for you," Grace told her, "Anessen's awake."

"Good!" Miril exclaimed, "I was worried for him. Go run and find Bellethiel, tell her that he is awake."

"Yes ma'am," Grace replied, running off down the garden path, this time hiking up her skirt. She paused at the end, turning back to the tall elleth. "Where is she?"

"I believe she is in the kitchens, though I cannot be sure."

"Thanks!" With a wave, Grace turned and ran off in the direction of the house. It took a while, but she soon located Bellethiel and informed her of her patient's status.

Bellethiel seemed very please, and handed a steaming cauldron to Grace, with instruction to take it to the infirmary, before running off in the direction of Christopher's room.

With a shrug, Grace hurried off in the proper direction, eager to get back and see how the new elf was doing. There was something about Anessen that reminded her of Maggie. She couldn't place it, though.

After a few minutes, the cauldron began to feel very heavy in her arms, very heavy indeed. She sat it down for a moment, stopping for a brief rest. After a minute, she continued on, humming a tune to herself as she went.

"Harry goes to Hogwarts  
he meets Ron and Hermione  
McGonagall requires he play for Gryffindor.  
Draco is a daddy's boy,  
Quirrell becomes unemployed  
the Sorcerer's Stone is destroyed by Dumbledore."

Though Grace was now an elf, she had not lost her obsession with Harry Potter. Miril did not approve, but there was not much to be done about it. While the twins were still spending much of their time in Imladris, they had been enthralled by accounts of the Weasley twins fighting Death Eaters and pulling pranks.

Dan and Ro. Something had changed them. With the increase of attacks on those near and around Rivendell, they had become sterner of face and mood, ridding often in search of the vile creators.

When she asked Lindir about it, he said only that it was their story to tell, if they would, and that he would not tell it for them. She wished she knew what was wrong, it hurt her to see her friends like that.

She soon reached the sunlit hall, and dropped off the cauldron. Bellethiel was there, and so was Anessen, his body bulk under his tunic, where the bandages were wrapped.

"There you are," Bellethiel greeted. "Lord Elrond has asked to speak with Anessen. Would you show him to his study?"

Grace was curious. A random elf had shown up at the doorstep of the Last Homely house, or the first, depending on how you look at it, had asked to be taken to its Lord, delivered some sort of message, and then collapsed. Of course she was curious, though it looked like that curiosity would not be satisfied for a long time, though maybe she could convince Lord Elrond to allow her to stay while they talked. She doubted it, though. It would be very unlikely. Anyway, she had to escort poor Anessen, the mystery elf, to the study.

"Sure," she told Bellethiel, and then turning to Anessen, "it's right this way."

He followed her, and they made their way to the study in comfortable silcence, at least on Anessen's part, as far as Grace could tell. She herself was bursting with questions that needed answers.

* * *

Soon they reached the ornate door that Grace remembered so very well. The same one where she had stood, butterflies wreaking havoc in her stomach, to meet the Lord of Imladris.

Reaching up her hand, she knocked. Behind her, Anessen straightened his postured, standing erect and positioning his two warrior's braids on either side of his neck.

"Enter," came a voice on the other side of the door. This was one word Grace knew, and she pushed the door open.

It swung open silently, and both entered, Grace curtsying and Christopher bowing, one hand over his heart.

Lord Elrond rose from his chair to greet them, and invited Christopher to sit down. Grace seemed forgotten for the minute, for which she was very glad. She sat with her back to a book case and settled down, playing close attention to the conversation going on the other side of the room, and trying to translate what was being said.

Lord Elrond seemed to be asking Christopher who he was, and where he was from.

"I am Anessen Rumilion, my lord," Anessen replied. "I was sent by my Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel to bear a message from Lord Aragorn to the Dunedain."

"How were you injured?" Lord Elrond asked him.

"I was carless," Anessen answered, a bit ruefully, "And I was captured by a band of roving yrch. They bound me, and took me with them over the paths of the Misty Mountains. I do not know here they were traveling to. I tried to escape, and they caught me." His eyes closed, as if remembering some terrible pain. "They beat me, and then carried me with them as they continued their march. The next day, I managed to escape them, and rested for the night in a tree. After that I traveled to Imladris, following the river that was marked out in one of my maps that I had been shown. I crossed the plain between the two rivers, and was hunting for food when Lady Ithilwen found me." Anessen was speaking quickly, and Grace had a hard time following him, though she perked up at the mention of her name

"She took me to Imladris, and at last to you, and after that, I do not remember much more."

At the end of the tale there were silence for a moment, and then Lord Elrond spoke. "There is now a choice before you,_" _He said. "You may stay here, and have a home in Imladris until all is done or all fails. Or you may travel with those that Lord Halbarad is leading to Lord Aragorn's aid in Rohan."

Without any hesitation Anessen replied. "I would go with those that Lord Halbarad is leading," he said. "I would return to my family."

"So be it," Lord Elrond declared. "They leave at first light on the day after tomorrow."

Grace stifled a cry. From the gist of what she had caught, Halbarad was leaving, and he might not come back. She didn't know, she didn't want to know, she just wanted to think that he would come back. It was awful, having those you loved go away. She wondered if the twins would go with them. She hoped not, as selfish as that may seem. Suddenly, she remember again Sarah's parting words to her. "_I will see you in Gondor_." It was decided. She would go with them to Gondor.


	31. Big as a House, Grey as a Mouse

(Maggie POV)

"See, see? It is the way out! We are through the marshes!"

Maggie stepped up beside the old, old hobbit and looked out. He had indeed lead them out, though there were no slag-pits or monstrous black gates. There were mountains, towering out of the mist, black and ominous. Directly before them was a road, broad, long, and very dusty. To the right there was nothing to be scene except the road winding its way south, but to the right you could see a faint cloud of dust trailing away in the dry wind that was blowing on their faces. It was hot for March, but a chilling heat, where you felt nothing but uncomfortable, and would like nothing more than to cuddle up in a sweater, no matter how sticky and hot it made you.

"Thank you, Sméagol," Maggie said, turning to Gollum, who had a frown on his face. Considering that he had been acting like a puppy asked on a walk for the past day, it was rather odd. "What's the matter?" Maggie asked.

Gollum shook his head, saying "no problems nice mistress," at the same time.

Frodo and Sam shot black looks at him. He didn't appear to notice. He was holding his head and shaking it side to side, muttering and hissing to himself. Maggie watched warily.

There was a feeling of malcontent issuing from those mountains, and with the road being where it was, Maggie, and Frodo and Sam too, felt horribly exposed. They were right there, right where anyone could see them. Suddenly the cloaks seemed flimsy and useless, next to the terrible might of Mordor.

The feeling passed, but did not quite go completely away, as Gollum seemed to come to a decision, jump up, and run off along the edge of the bog.

Sharing a glance between them, the three hobbits ran after him, their feet squelching in the soft ground as they went.

"Oi Gollum!" Sam called softly as he ran. "Slow down!"

Gollum either didn't hear or chose to ignore Sam's command, and continued on as he had been, running as fast as he might. Well, not as fast as that, maybe, but still, it was work for the tired, wet, and sore hobbits to keep up with him.

After about five minutes of steady jogging, they were out of easy site of the road. Away from the dust, but still under the shadow of the mountain, there was a patch of lush grass, the first they'd seen since leaving the Fellowship. Maggie flopped down in it, and immediately started making grass-angels. Frodo barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes (a gesture he had picked up from Maggie, he found it well-suited for various situations), and scooped up her pack from where she had dropped it, pulling out their various blankets. (Maggie was designated blanket-carrier, Sam was designated pots, pans, salt, and other provisions carrier, and Frodo took everything else, as well as the things that wouldn't fit in the other's packs)

Ignoring Maggie, who was still rolling in the grass, and Gollum, who had run off somewhere, Frodo and Sam set up for the night as best they could. After halting Maggie's imitation of a satisfied pony, the three supped, munching on lembas and drinking the last of their water, save for a few drops. In the very far distance Sam's quick ears could catch the sound of running water. They had entered Ithilien, and Maggie was very happy.

That night, as the other two slept, Maggie lay staring up at the stars. There was a cloud-cover, so it was hard to see them, but every now and then one would peep though. The North Star, maybe, or sometimes it was Orion's Belt, or part of the Big Dipper. The stars were brighter in Middle-earth, Maggie observed like Sarah before her. And bigger. And younger, too. They seemed more _alive_, if that were possible. She wondered if they were like the stars in Narnia, really people, who occasionally retired like Ramandu, or were exiled, like Coriakin. She knew Eärendil, or Venus, depending on who you were asking, was a real person floating around up there, and Isil, the moon, and anor, the sun.

There was a blinding flash of red, searing across the sky and blinding all the stars. Maggie gave a startled gasp, which turned into a small, quiet scream of pain. It felt like there was a heavy weight on her mind, searching… searching… and it was gone. The others slept. Sam grunted, and turned over in his sleep.

Maggie took a deep breath, and sat up. Pushing back her blanket, she moved to stand on the edge of their little spot, the new grass tickling her toes and ankles. The mountains of Mordor loomed, less than a mile away. That was where the flash came from, that was certain. What was not certain was what the flash was doing, and how it found her, or if it really found her. She hoped it was just a waking dream, but doubted it greatly.

A cool breeze drifted from the Marsh, bring with it the stench of dead plants. Maggie wrinkled her nose. She had become largely immune to the smell over the last few days, but after at least an hour of cool, sweet grass it had become disgusting once more. Feeling suddenly sleep, Maggie went to lay down again. This time she fell asleep, though she clutched the Ring in her left hand as she drifted off into an uneasy rest.

There were no birds. That was the first thing Maggie noticed upon awakening. The birds were gone. Of course, they had been gone in the Emyn Muil and the Dead Marshes as well, but somehow the absence was more noticeable here, on the edge of Ithilien. Maggie supposed it was because of the close presence of Mordor making itself felt, but that definitely didn't mean she liked it one little bit.

Maggie had woken up before everyone else, even Gollum. He had crept back during the night, and was curled up the fetal position, whistling like a tea kettle in his sleep. It would have been amusing it wasn't so down right creepy.

The sky in the west was tinged with a rosy light, though in the east it was still black. Maggie narrowed her eyes. There was something _wrong_ about that, but she couldn't figure out why with her sleep-fogged brain. Despite the fact that she had trouble sleeping, that didn't mean that she didn't _need _it, and desperately too, at this point. Unfortunately, there was no getting it right then; she needed to wake Frodo and Sam.

Using a different, more polite method than Sarah's in Bree (i.e. singing them away), Maggie gently touched the shoulders of her companions. With the level of hyper-awareness that they seemed to have developed though their travels, they woke with the slightest of touches.

Less than half an hour after that, they were underway, putting their sides, and backs, to the mountains and walking south southwest, attempting to locate the source of water that Sam had heard the night before.

Before long, they could all hear it, trickling merrily in a stream to the right. With relieved sighs, all four rushed it, Maggie, Frodo, and Sam early drinking with their hands and filling their empty water skins. Gollum lay down on the bank and began to lap the icy water like a dog.

While Frodo and Sam washed their faces, Maggie shed her cloak and hobbit vest that she had borrowed from Pippin so long ago and flipped her hair into the water. Frodo and Sam stopped washing and stared at her. Her head hanging upside down, Maggie let it flow in the swift current, washing the mud and dirt of at least a week, and probably more, away. Once it was clean to her satisfaction, she pulled her head out of the water, and flipped it around, letting silver droplets spray everywhere in the morning sun. It felt so _good_ to have her hair clean.

The wet hair clung to her shoulders, hanging straight down her back for the first time in a long time. Taking advantage of this, Maggie braided it into two braids, one on each side, fastening them with a loose thread pulled from her fraying trousers.

"That feels _so_ much better," she remarked when she was finished.

As they walked along the stream, the warm mid-morning sun beat down on their backs. While at first it was pleasant, and helped to dry Maggie's damp hair, it got to be hot and a tad humid, not the most pleasant of walking conditions.

Gollum found his own way to cool off. With a running jump, he gave a spectacular example of a belly flop, and then began to eagerly scrabble through the stream in search of fish.

"Hey Stinker, don't go getting too far ahead!" Sam called.

Maggie rolled her eyes. It was _this_ scene, wasn't it? Normally, she would have tried to avoid the argument, but for some reason she was feeling very persnickety today. It was probably the heat.

"Honestly, he's just having fun," she told him. "Let him be."

"Why, he deserves it! He almost killed Sam!" Frodo protested.

Maggie rolled her eyes "He's Gollum," She said, "of course he did. And he tried to kill Bilbo, and me, and you. That doesn't make it right, but still. He's pretty much completely bitter with the world. Look, I don't want to fight right now. Yeah, he's mean, he's disgusting, and cruel. But he's also has a chance for a change, however slight. Ad anyway, he's pretty cute right now." Maggie froze dead in her track. She turned a horrified look on the other two hobbits. "Oh my gosh, I can't believe I just said that. Please tell me I didn't say that. Please!"

Frodo and Sam starred at her. She had called Gollum cute. What was the world coming to? Both gave her an odd look, and then ignored her. Sometimes, that was truly the best thing to do with Maggie.

Gollum had left the stream now, half an eaten fish in his hand. "This way, hobbitess!" He told them, and walked further into the wood.

* * *

The sun was shining, as was mentioned earlier, and there were birds out now, chirping in the threes. The sun was past noon when Frodo called a halt. Despite the pleasant weather, their legs were getting very tired. Maggie especially, after being revived the stream, had drooped like a lily in the hot sun. They stopped in a glade, a short distance from the road, but screened by many trees. Maggie and Frodo sat down, while Sam busied himself with looking for something other than lembas in their bags. Gollum had vanished.

Before long he was back, and chortling with delight.

"Look! Look! See what Sméagol finds!" He bounced up and down in excitement, and tossed a dead bunny onto Maggie's lap.

Maggie wrinkled her nose. "Alright Gollum," she told him, trying to be gentle but truthful. She failed at the first, and got the second. "That is utterly gross. I'm sure they'd make a good stew, though. Sam?" she looked at the afore-mentioned hobbit.

Sam turned around, and saw the poor rabbits in Maggie's lap, and the dancing, triumphant Sméagol.

After bouncing around in triumph for a second, Gollum picked one up and showed it to her. "They are tender. They are nice, yes they are!" he took it in his hands, and Maggie interrupted him quickly.

"Ah, Goll-err-Sméagol, you, err, might not want to do that…"

Gollum paused, looking puzzled. But before he could ask why she would stop him, Sam had swooped down and picked up the animal. The two scowled at each other for a moment, before Sam told him that there was only one way to eat a coney.

One thing lead to another, and there was soon a pot of stew boiling over a small fire, one that let off barely any smoke. Gollum whined and moaned for a little, but he was soon chased off for a while by Frodo.

After what seemed like a week, but was in reality only an hour, Sam dished up bowls of stew into his spare pots and pans, and they dug in.

* * *

"Whaheet! Whaheet!" From the direction of the road there came an odd bird call. Maggie set her soup down carefully on a rock and looked up, just in time to see Sam disappearing around the corner. She jogged Frodo's arm, waking him up from the light doze he had fallen into.

"Sam went that way," she whispered, trying not to attract attention from anyone who might be near.

Frodo gave her a puzzled look, and stood up, making sure that Sting was where it was supposed to be. With a significant look at Maggie, clearly telling her to stay put, he slipped off in the direction that she had indicated. Maggie rolled her eyes, unbelted her sling, and, fitting a stone into it, followed him.

It wasn't hard. He was being as silent as a hobbit can be, of course, but his cloak was tangled around his shoulder, and she could clearly see the white of his shirt, as he had discarded his jacket. This small patch of white she followed, and it lead her to the road. Well, almost to the road. She found both Frodo and Sam crouched under a large, gnarly bush peering out at the road below. Pausing a moment to pull her hood over her head, she joined them. A second later, she felt another body slither up on her other side. It wasn't hard to guess who it was.

The tramp of feet continued below, going on and on and on.

"Who are they?" Sam breathed.

"Southrons, Haradrim, or Easterlings," Maggie answered, in an equally quiet voice. Gollum corrected her, speaking in more of a hiss than anything else.

"Wicked men. Servants of Sauron. They are called to Mordor. The dark one's gathering all armies to him. It won't be long now, he will soon be ready."

Maggie, Sam, and Frodo looked at him, though it was Sam who asked the question that was on all of their minds.

"Ready to do what?"

"To make his war," Gollum replied. "The last war that will cover all the world in shadow."

Maggie could hear clearly what Sarah would say right that moment. It was almost like she was in her head saying the words, and Maggie barley stopped them from coming out of her mouth, figuring that they wouldn't be appreciated at the moment. She smiled sadly. She missed Sarah with a passion.

An ominous silence hung for a moment, before Frodo rose to his knees and tugged on both Maggie and Sam's arms.

"We need to get moving," he whispered urgently. "Come on Sam, come on Maggie."

Maggie allowed herself to be pulled away, and she was already half on her knees when there was a very low trumpeting, like an elephant, only, it wasn't an elephant. No elephant in the world could be that big. She heard Sam whispering something to Frodo, but she missed it. The words 'big as a house, gray as a mouse, nose like a snake, I make the earth shake' could not have been truer. She wished she could remember the whole poem.

Then Maggie's eyes widened, and she remembered exactly what happened after this. With the delay in the Emyn Muil, they did not need a detour to Osgiliath, they needed to go straight on to Minas Morgul.

"Come one guys!" she whisper-shouted. "We really have to go. Now!"

As Frodo and Sam turned to look at her, an arrow whined past and buried itself quivering in a tree. Their heads snapped around to look at it in shock, then Frodo took charge.

"Come, quickly," he breathed, speaking so low that only Sam could hear him distinctly. Frodo threw up his hood, and quietly crept away, Sam copying him with a last glance at the Oliphaunts. They vanished into the trees, and Maggie was alone. There was a downside to the cloaks.

She jumped up and ran as silently as she might, hoping that she blended in. About ten yards away that plan fell flat on its face – literally. An unlucky tree root decided to stick itself up in Maggie's path, and she tripped. She let out a hiss of pain, barely keeping back a yelp. Carefully and slowly she drew her outstretched foot up under the folds of fabric.

A stick cracked a short ways away. The cries from the road had died down, and every sound was coming crisp and clear to Maggie's terrified ears. She grasped the Ring in her sweaty palm. Her mouth felt dry. There came another crack, this time closer, and then all was still.


	32. A Surprise Companion

**This chapter is dedicated _WoodElfJedi_. Come back soon, Lir!**

* * *

Grace Athena Hodgson, known to the residents of Imladris as Ithilwen, stood on a small balcony jutting out from her room and looked over the Elven city of Imladris. She was caught between two minds. On the one hand, she didn't want to leave the relative peace and safety, not to mention all her friends, that was to be found in the valley; but on the other hand, she wanted her sister. It was the longest that they had been apart their whole lives, and Grace missed her terribly.

With a sigh, she stepped back inside and inspected her pack. Everything she might need was in there, including some of the tunics that had been given to Anessen. Another tunic, and breeches, of course, was lying on her bed, ready to be put on.

Anessen! After the first awkward conversations, the Lóthlorien Elf had agreed to help her come south with the Dunedaín. There was a rendezvous point where the Hoarwell and the Bruinen met, and from there they would go straight south, and so come to the Gap of Rohan. Swift messengers had been sent to the Dunedaín to come as quickly as they might to the proper place.

That was where Grace would reveal herself- there, or a little more south. She and Anessen had worked all the details out, or so they hoped. She sighed again, and then turned to go to the entrance to Rivendell to 'see off' those who were traveling to the meeting of the waters.

She had her hand on the carved knob when there was a light tapping on the frame. Grace froze, casting a panicked look behind her at her pack and tunic spread out on the bed, and then opened the door, careful to put herself between the knocker and her bed. It was Lord Glorfindel. All might have been well, except for the unfortunate fact that Lord Glorfindel happened to be a full, plus a half, head taller than Grace, and more than capable of looking over her. Grace gulped.

Lord Glorfindel gave her a Look. "We shall talk after our friends have departed," he told her, and there was a tone of command in his voice that left no doubt in Grace's mind that she would comply.

She nodded mutely and followed him through the corridors to the gate of Imladris.

* * *

There were not many Dunedaín currently in Imladris, almost all were out guarding the Shire and the roads in these evil times. To Grace's surprise, besides Halbarad, Anessen, and a handful of Dunedaín, both 'Dan and 'Ro were there as well, standing at the heads of their magnificent horses and speaking to them quietly. The sight of them only hardened Grace's resolve to follow. As Grace descended the steps behind Lord Glorfindel, Anessen looked up. Their eyes met, and Anessen nodded.

Not many people were there to see them off, only one or two women, a few elves, and Lord Elrond. Lord Glorfindel had gone to Elladan and Elrohir and was speaking to them, giving them instructions for something. The Lady Arwen was standing a little ways back, waiting for her turn to farewell her brothers. In her hand was clasped a white staff closely-furled in a black cloth bound about with many thongs. Lady Arwen was paler than Grace remember seeing her, though admittedly she hadn't seen her much.

Glorfindel finished speaking to them and he stepped back, allowing Lady Arwen to embrace her brothers. The three were very much alike in looks, Lady Arwen looking like a female version of the twins. Realizing that she wouldn't be able to speak to her friends for a while yet, Grace wandered over to where Halbarad was standing with his horse.

He felt her presence, and turned to face her. His face, where it had been grim before, melted into a small smile. "Grace," he greeted.

Grace nodded in greeting. "Halbarad," she returned, then hesitated. After a second of indecisiveness, she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Good luck," she whispered.

After an initial stiffening of surprise, Halbarad returned the embrace, and then pulled away, holding Grace at arm's length.

"Farewell," he said, before leaning down and placing a kiss of benediction on her forehead. Grace nodded, suddenly feeling as though she was going to cry. Halbarad looked up, and then he bowed.

"Lady Arwen."

Grace spun around, almost tripping (again) on the hem of her gown. She hurriedly stepped back, though not too far. She could hear every word which passed between them.

"My Lord Halbarad," Lady Arwen greeted him. Without waiting for a reply, she continued, holding out the staff wrapped in black. "Wouldst thou take this to thy lord?" she asked.

Halbarad bowed his head. "I would, Lady," he replied.

Lady Arwen smiled, and her whole face was transformed. "Then give him my word, also," she instructed. "_The days now are short. Either our hope cometh, or all hopes end. Therefore I send thee what I have made for thee. Fare well, Elfstone!_"

Reaching out to take the standard, Halbarad replied. "I will take this message, Lady," he assured her.

Grace would have stayed longer, but her arm was tapped by someone who had come up silently behind her. It was Elladan, and he tilted his head, pointing with it to a small distance away from those about to depart.

Grace opened her mouth, but before she could say a word, 'Dan cut her off.

"Whatever you are planning, I do not wish to know, so that I may claim ignorance."

Grace blinked. "Why did you think I was planning anything?" she asked curiously.

"Because you had the look in your eye," was the reply.

Grace considered it for a moment. If the tales that Lindir told her were true, it _would_ make sense that the twins would be the first to guess that she was planning something. _Not the first,_ said a voice in her head, and with a sinking feeling she remember Lord Glorfindel.

Before she could say anything, 'Dan held up his hand. "I came to bid you good bye and to wish you luck. You are probably going to need it."

For the second time that day, Grace found herself in a hug, and then 'Dan was gone, standing beside his brother once more.

Anessen, standing with the sons of Elrond, gave Grace a smile, and, after glancing around to make sure that no one was watching, mouthed 'see you later' at her.

Grace's face broke out into a grin, and she nodded. Then she frowned, and pointed at Lord Glorfindel.

Anessen narrowed his eyes, and then they widened in recognition. He shrugged, and mouthed again 'I wish you luck'.

Any further non-conversation was cut off by a nod from Lord Elrond to Halbarad. With little fanfare, the travelers turned their backs on Imladris and made their way into the wilds.

* * *

Grace stood staring after them for a long while. Gradually the sun rose high in the sky, and the birds began to come out in force. Once the courtyard area started to become busy with many elves going about their daily business, she turned to leave, only to bump straight into Glorfindel's chest.

"And where do you think you're going?" he asked her. Grace blushed.

"Back to my room," she replied. "I thought we were supposed to talk there."

Lord Glorfindel nodded. "I will walk behind you," he informed her, "so that you do not get lost."

Grace rolled her eyes, though she was careful not to let Lord Glorfindel see it. "How very kind of you," she muttered. By his smirk, Glorfindel had heard it.

They made their way to Grace's room in an uncomfortable silence. They passed several elves, all of whom called out greetings, but they did not meet anyone that Grace knew, not even Bilbo. She resigned herself to her fate.

Soon the carved oak wood door of Grace's room appeared before them. Without waiting for Lord Glorfindel to say anything, Grace jerked it open. If she was any younger she would have stomped to the bed. As it was, she walked primly, swept the things lying on it aside, and plopped down. She did not offer Lord Glorfindel any place to sit.

This was a disaster. When he found out then she would be stuck at Imladris until the end of the War, if the end ever came. Grace almost groaned, though she caught herself just in time.

Lord Glorfindel helped himself to a chair, dragging it over from the desk. He raised his eyebrow (he was very good at that particular facial expression, Grace noted), and began.

"You are following them." It was not a question, it was a statement.

"Yes," Grace lifted her nose in the air. "What of it?"

"You are much too young to go traipsing out in the wilds alone," Lord Glorfindel informed her.

"So you're going to stop me from ever seeing my family again?" Alright, maybe she was blowing things up a bit, but everything had been going so _well_ before!

"No," Glorfindel corrected patiently, "I am going with you until you join the company."

Grace blinked. And stared. Whatever she had been expecting, that was not it. Glorfindel leaned back in his chair and smiled as he watched her expression.

"I too have run away before on a quest." He told her. "I understand what you are thinking, more than you know. But that is a story for another time. Perhaps I will tell it on the way. We leave tonight after nightfall. Be ready." He stood, and with a slight bow, left the room.

Grace sat on her bead staring dumbly after him. Her opinion and respect for the elf had just skyrocketed. Slowly, a grin spread itself across her face. She was going to see Sarah.


	33. Of Tall Men and Really Short Elves

_(Previously on Strangers From a Distant Land: Maggie jumped up and ran as silently as she might, hoping that she blended in. About ten yards away that plan fell flat on its face – literally. An unlucky tree root decided to stick itself up in Maggie's path, and she tripped. She let out a hiss of pain, barely keeping back a yelp. Carefully and slowly she drew her outstretched foot up under the folds of fabric._

_A stick cracked a short ways away. The cries from the road had died down, and every sound was coming crisp and clear to Maggie's terrified ears. She grasped the Ring in her sweaty palm. Her mouth felt dry. There came another crack, this time closer, and then all was still.)_

* * *

"I found no one this way," a man's voice called out, less than two feet away from Maggie. Her heart felt as if it were in her throat. "Whoever made the smoke must have fled in the other direction.

"Very well," said a new voice, so like to Boromir's that Maggie knew it must be his brother. "We shall-" but no one ever discovered what Faramir meant to do, for at that minute the first man took a step forward, directly onto Maggie's leg. Amazingly, he did not fall, but the toe of his boot caught the fabric of Maggie's cloak, tugging it up and forward. There was a sharp intake of breath, but Maggie did not wait to see what would happen.

She scrambled off the ground, almost tripping over the cloth wound about her legs. She grasped for her knife with her left hand while simultaneously forcing her right to not reach for the Ring, neatly concealed beneath her shirt.

Her hand never reached the hilt of her blade. The two men acted quickly, each leaping forward, the one who had tripped over her grabbing her sword-arm and holding it behind her back. The taller one, Faramir, looked down at her.

"What is a girl-child doing here, of all places?" he asked her. Maggie shook her head and opened her mouth, about to deny the fact that she was a child, when there was a furious rustle from the bushes on the left and Frodo and Sam burst through, their short blades drawn and ready. Maggie tried to jerk her arm out of the Man's hand, but his grip proved too strong.

Sam, valiant Sam, leapt at him and smacked his knuckles with the flat of his drawn blade. More out of reflex than anything else the man relaxed his grip. Maggie wasted no time in moving away, coming to stand behind Frodo

Sam quickly walked backwards and the three put their backs to each other, holding their swords before them, as two more men walked into the small clearing from the other direction. The hobbits were surrounded.

A few moments of tense silence passed, none relaxing their guard. At last, one of the new comers spoke.

"We have not found what we sought," said he, his voice slicing through the quiet like a hot knife through butter, "But what have we found?"

"Not Orcs," his companion allowed.

"Elves?" asked the one who had sized Maggie, doubt plain in his voice. Maggie snorted. They were just a _tad_ short.

"Nay! Not Elves, Elves do not walk in Ithilien in these days," Faramir corrected him. "and Elves are wondrous fair to look upon, or so it is said."

Maggie blinked. Did he just call them ugly? Apparently Sam had come to the same conclusion, only he was more verbal about it.

"Meaning we are no, I take you," he retorted. "Thank you kindly. And when you have finished discussing us, perhaps you will say who _you_ are, and why you can't let three tired travelers rest!"

Faramir laughed, though it was not a happy sound, and identified himself. "I am Faramir, Captain of Gondor. But there are no travelers in this land: only the servants of the Dark Tower, or the White."

"But we are neither," Frodo replied, slipping into his roll as eldest present and therefore leader. "And travelers we are, whatever Captain Faramir may say."

The Man gazed sternly at them. "Then make haste to declare yourselves and your errand," he commanded. "We must return soon, and this is not timer or place for riddling or parleying. Com! Where is the fourth of your company?"

Frodo blinked, quickly schooling his face to a politely interested expression. "The fourth?" he asked innocently.

"Yes," Faramir clearly did not believe him. "The skulking fellow that we saw with his nose in the pool down yonder. He had an ill-favored look. Some spying breed of Orc, I guess, or a creature of theirs. But he gave us the slip by some fox-trick.'

Now Frodo pretended to understand. "I do not know where he is," he told Faramir, " He is only a chance companion met upon our road, and I am _not_ answerable for him." He left it there. Maggie discretely kicked him. Frodo sighed, and added on - "If you come upon him, please spare him. Bring him or send him to us. He is a wreched gangrel creature, but Ma- I have him under my care for a while." He paused, before continuing. "But as for us, we are Hobbits of the Shire, far to the North and West, beyond many rivers. Frodo son of Drogo is my name, and with me is Samwise son of Hamfast, a worth hobbit in my service, and Maggie-" he paused for a second, not sure who was Maggie's father, and then continued without missing a beat "-sister of Anessen. We have come by long ways - out of Rivendell, or Imladris as some call it. Nine companions had we: one we lost at Moria, the others we left at Parth Galen above Rauros: two of my kin; a Dwarf there was also, and an Elf, and three of the race of Men; a close friend of Maggie, the man Aragorn, and Boromir, who said that he came out of Minas Tirith, a city in the south.'

"Boromir!" fell from the lips of all the Men. Faramir elaborated.

"Boromir son of the Lord Denethor?" A shadow of something cast itself on his face, though the sun was bright in the sky. "You came with him? That is news indeed, if it be true. Know, little strangers, that Boromir son of Denethor was High Warden of the White Tower, and our Captain-General: sorely do we miss him."

Maggie's quick ears caught the past-tense 'was', and her blood ran cold. Sarah - she stopped that thought in it's tracks. She wouldn't go there. Not after everything. Suddenly Maggie realized that Frodo was talking again.

"-that Boromir brought to Rivendell?"

"Yes indeed," Faramir replied. He paused. "Did Boromir also make known to you the dream?"

"Dream?" Frodo asked, plainly puzzled. Maggie suddenly realized that, despite the council following, to some extent, what had happened in the movie, the two brothers had had the same dream as the pair in the books.

"See for the sword that was broken," she piped up. "In Imladris it dwells. There shall be councils taken, stronger than Morgul-spells. There shall be shown a token that doom is near at hand, and Isildur's Bane shall waken and the Halfling forth shall stand."

Frodo, Sam, and the Men looked at her oddly. Maggie shrugged. "He told Sarah," she said, "and she told me. It was while we were in Lorien, I think. Anyway, Aragorn's the guy with the sword, and he -" here she gestured to Frodo, "is the Halfling."

Frodo opened his mouth to point out that it was she who stood forth, but thought better of it, and held his tongue.

"That I see, or I see that it might be so." Faramir answered thoughtfully. "And what is Isildur's Bane?"

"That is hidden," Frodo returned. "Doubtless it will be made clear in time."

Faramir stood for a moment in thought, and then came to a decision. "We must learn more of this, and know what brings you so far east under the shadow of yonder -" Here he gestured but spoke no name. "But not now. We must return swiftly to our place of rest. You are in peril, and you would not have gone far by field or road this day. Now, alas, I must do you a discourtesy. It is the command that no stranger, not even one of Rohan that fights with us, shall see the path that we must travel. We must bind your eyes."

"And if we refuse?" Sam asked. "I don't know who you are, Mr. Faramir, and I don't know what you mean to do, so I beg your pardon but I don't see why we should be letting you blindfold us!"

Maggie sighed, feeling suddenly tired and worn out. She could do without a suspicious Sam at the moment. "Hey, I'm cool with it," she broke in. "As long as we don't go anywhere near Osgiliath. That place gives me the creeps."

Faramir looked at her oddly, and Frodo looked like he wanted to ask when she had been to Osgiliath, considering she wasn't even from Middle-earth in the first place. Neither of them said anything, though, and the three of the four Men approached the Hobbits. Maggie readily sheathed her knife, and the others followed, though they more reluctantly. From somewhere deep within their cloaks the Men brought forth thick black cloths and tied them around the eyes of the Hobbits. Their hoods they then pulled down to their chins. Maggie supposed they looked like some sort of green Klu Klux Klan members. Thankfully they were not deprived of their weapons, and the Men only took hold of their hands to lead them along the path.

They were very good guides, and Maggie only stumbled once, though it was no fault of her guide. She had a horrible habit of tripping on thin air when she couldn't see.

Presently Frodo and Faramir began to talk up ahead. Maggie was behind them, and Sam was ahead. Having nothing better to do, she eavesdropped.

"The Grey Pilgrim?" Frodo was saying. "Had he a name?"

"Mithrandir we called him in elf-fashion, and he was content," Faramir answered him. "'Many are my names in many countries' he said once. 'Mithrandir among the Elves, Tharkun to the Dwarves; Olorin I was in my youth in the West that is forgotten, in the South Incanus, in the North Gandalf; to the East I go not."

"Gandalf!" exclaimed Frodo. "I thought it was he. Gandalf the Grey, dearest of counsellors. Leader of our Company. He was lost in Moria."

"Mithrandir was lost!" cried Faramir. "An evil fate seems to have pursued your fellowship. It is hard indeed to believe that one of so great wisdom, and of power - for many wonderful things he did among us - could perish, and so much lore be taken from the world. Are you sure of this, and that he did not just leave you and depart where he would?"

"Alas! yes," said Frodo sadly. "I saw him fall into the abyss."

Maggie tugged on the hand of her guide (she briefly wondered what his name was) and tried to move closer to the pair. "I'm of the personal opinion that he's in Fangorn forest talking to Treebeard about Merry and Pip right now," she informed them. She couldn't see their expressions, obviously, but she could practically feel the incredulity pouring off of them in waves. "Just a thought," she shrugged, and slowed down in order to let them get ahead.

The conversation trailed off after that statement, and the rest of the journey was completed in silence. After about twenty minutes of walking, though all time flowed together when you could not see, the path began to descend steeply, and became narrow, and occasionally Maggie could feel a rock wall to one side or another. The noise of rushing water filled their ears, and presently Maggie was hoisted up bridal-style and carried for a good ways. Soon the sound of the water was all about them, as if they were passing through a roaring tunnel of the stuff. They were set on their feet, and Maggie could feel the rough stone beneath her feet. Her hood was drawn back, and the blindfold removed.

Though the light was dim, Maggie stood blinking in it. There was a waterfall to her right, covering the mouth of the cave. Sunlight filtered through, rippling on the brown-grey walls. A few lamps were hung at strategic intervals. They had come to Henneth Annun.


	34. Athelas Does Not Belong In Beef Stew

(Sarah POV)

The next morning was spent gathering up supplies and people and deciding who would go back to Edoras and who would stay in Helms Deep with the wounded and the small garrison of soldiers.

Eventually, at about ten AM, or at least, that's what Eda said it was (she actually said it was the fourth hour, Sarah couldn't tell), they set off, a much smaller group then what they had arrived. Most of those going were residents of Edoras, and a few who had family who lived there. Beorn's clan was going because they didn't have any other place to be and also had come to care greatly for Sarah. Sarah was going, not only because that's where Eowyn was, but also because that is where- in both the movie and the book- the group from Isengard came. She was looking forward to seeing Gandalf again; she hadn't gotten a chance to before, and she had missed him badly since Moria. It was awful, she reflected, going through all this, knowing who would die, and what would happen, and not being able to do anything about it.

As they walked, she looked down at her hands. She had failed in those caves, despite the resolutions made in Moria. She had fought, but she had failed, and had to be rescued by Eowyn. Why did this keep happening? With a sigh of frustration, she kept walking.

* * *

The day passed quickly, and they walked long after the sun was gone. There was still a faint light in air, so that they could see, but in the east a darkness was creeping, a black night. Sarah shuddered. The battle of the Pelennor Fields was fast approaching.

They pitched camp when the last light was almost gone, starting up fires and picketing the various horses. There were a lot of horses. Of course, this was Rohan, so that was to be expected, though the books never did mention the smell that accompanied such a herd. Sarah seemed to be the only one unaccustomed to it, so she did her best to not wrinkle her nose. It was hard.

She wandered the camp, helping those she came across with their various tasks. Alric came along with her, tied to her back in a sort of blanket-sling Freya had fashioned for her. He was asleep, and Sarah could feel her back getting slightly damp from a small trickle of drool. She smiled, but at the same time, she was worried. She had no idea what she was going to do now. Christopher was up north delivering the message to the Dunedain, Grace was safe in Rivendell – here she paused – she had asked Christopher to bring her down. She started mentally kicking herself. She was a fool. He would be bringing her right into the thick of things. No, not foolish, selfish. She wanted her sister with her, and so had brought her exactly where it was not safe for any twelve year old to be.

"Stupid, Sarah," she muttered under her breath, and then turned her thoughts to Maggie, and what she was doing. Worrying about Grace would hardly help her now. Where would Maggie be now? Was she out of the Marshes? Did they have Gollum as their guide? Was she messing up the time line too much? Sarah could see Maggie doing that, just on a whim. Her friend was way too flighty at times. She still loved her though. It was hard not to, even when she had had too much sugar. Actually, she seemed to have had too much sugar quite often now. Thankfully there wasn't coffee in Middle-earth. No one should be subjected to a caffeinated Maggie.

Sarah shook her head to get her thoughts back on track. Thinking about Maggie wouldn't be helping her either at the moment. Back to what she was going to do after the Three Hunters and the two errant hobbits arrived. She did NOT want to go to the Pelennor fields, no matter how much she wished to see Gondor. She could go site-seeing once everything calmed down. Way down. So she wasn't going with Eowyn there. There was Aragorn, she could go with him on the Paths of the Dead. She shivered. Those places gave her the creeps in the movie and she had absolutely no desire to see them up close, or more up close then the Dwimmorberg. And she had Alric to think of. Haleth had given him into her charge, and she couldn't just abandon him. That would be awful, even if she left him the care of people who cared about him. Leaving Alric was not an option.

She sighed inwardly, thinking of her two year old. It was a _lot_ of responsibility. A lot a lot. She wasn't ready to be a mother by any means, or an older sister in place of a mother, but she would do her absolute best to be the best mother she could be to Alric. Sarah bit her lip, thinking of her mom. She squeezed her eyes tightly. Everything had been going so quickly since they came to Middle-earth, but she missed her so much. So, so very much.

The toddler in question shifted his weight, and a new patch of drool bean to seep through the back of Sarah's dress. She sighed. That was the one thing she did _not_ like about babies. Drool. At least Alric was passed the spit-up stage. She did have to keep him in diapers, though. She groaned out loud, attracting a few suspicious looks. Diapers! This wasn't 2014 America, it was medieval Middle-earth. They didn't _have _disposable diapers! It had only been a day, but she was now eagerly awaiting the time when Alric graduated up to using the potty, or outhouse as the case may be, on his own.

"First order of business," Sarah muttered softly to herself. "Potty training."

She suddenly realized that she had been standing in the same place for almost ten minutes. Her face turned red and she shrugged her shoulders to adjust the weight of Alric on her back, and then wandered off in search of Eowyn. According the letter, she was now under Eowyn's guardianship and protection, but she had spent all of two minutes talking to her, at least that Sarah could remember.

She found her standing over a pot with some sort of broth in in. Sarah looked on in alarm as she began to add various things to it. Sarah didn't know all the plants of Middle earth or anything like that, but she was pretty sure that Athelas did not belong in a beef stew. She hurried over, very worried over the outcome of said stew.

On her way, she tripped over a clump of grass that stuck straight up in her path. Down she tumbled, landing face-first in the ground. Her nose hurt a lot, and when she reached her hand up to it her fingers came away dyed red. Miraculously, Alric was still asleep, though he shifted and mumbled a little. There was renewed thumb sucking.

Feeling rather bruised, Sarah pushed herself off the ground and gingerly touched her nose, by now very sore. She hoped it wasn't broken. With a grimace she continued on her way, digging in her pocket for a handkerchief. She came up with one soon enough, a pretty, light blue thing with the initials _PT _embroidered in one corner. She smiled at it before raising it to her nose. Pippin had loaned it to her in Lothlorien, and she had forgotten to give it back. She would need to make a new one for him, there was no way this would survive her nose.

She finally reached Eowyn, who by now was serving up the stew in bowls, handing them to various people, mainly those who getting up in years. As Sarah approached, a wooden bowl was pushed into her hands. She looked at it suspiciously. She was _sure_ that Athelas did _not_ belong in a beef stew.

Eowyn was looking expectantly at her, however, so she reluctantly lifted her spoon to her mouth and took a small bit. It was hot, very hot, and she wished for ice cubes, but above that, she wished that someone had taken the time to teach Eowyn how to cook. She needed lessons badly. Very badly.

With a rather fixed smile on her face, Sarah forced down the bit.

Eowyn smiled genuinely. "How is it?" she asked, looking both expectant and proud.

Sarah froze. "Great!" She declared, and took another bite, this time much smaller. It was no better. "I think it needs to cool a bit though," she told the Lady. "It's a bit hot."

Eowyn nodded, and Sarah carefully set the bowl down on a nearby rock, resolving to hand it off later to someone who would appreciate it more. Maybe she could feed it to Alric. He probably wouldn't mind. Most two year olds would eat anything.

Anyway, she had come over to talk to Eowyn, who by now was nearing the end of her pot of stew and handing it out. Sarah noticed that she didn't have a bowl.

"You're not eating any?" she asked, then immediately refrained from slapping herself on the forehead. That was probably the _worst_ possible way she could have started a conversation.

Eowyn shook her head. "No," she replied, "Not until everyone else has eaten."

There were a few more minutes of awkward silence between them before people stopped coming up for stew. Apparently word had gotten around.

Eowyn served up one last bowl and took it over to where Sarah was sitting. She glanced down at the ground to make sure she wasn't going to sit on anything unpleasant before lowering herself and her bowl gracefully to the ground. Sarah, who had still not touched her soup, watched her expectantly. Eowyn lifted the spoon to her lips and blew, then placed it in her mouth. Her expression was special. Sarah grinned, then quickly schooled her face into a more appropriate expression when Eowyn turned to look at her.

The Lady of Rohan swallowed the bite with difficulty, then looked at Sarah in puzzlement.

"But everyone else liked it," she said.

"I believe…" Sarah choose her words carefully. "I believe no one wished to hurt your feelings, Lady"

"They should have said something!" Eowyn exclaimed, then she looked at the uneaten bowl sitting near Sarah. "Do not feel obliged to finish that, Sarah," she told her.

"Oh, um," now Sarah looked a tad embarrassed. "I was planning on feeding it to Alric. He's two, so he won't mind about the taste.

Eowyn nodded. "Very well then." She looked ruefully at her own soup, and then reluctantly picked up the spoon and started eating again.

"So, um," Sarah shifted her weight, then decided to go for it. The topic of Boromir's last letter still hung between them, and Sarah wanted to know exactly what 'being under the care of Lady Eowyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan' entailed.

"About that letter," she said abruptly.

Eowyn looked politely confused.

"Bo – Boromir said that I was, um, entrusted to you," Sarah's face was now bright pink; this was a lot more embarrassing than she had anticipated. "What, um, what does that mean?"

"Oh!" Eowyn's face cleared, and then she looked thoughtful. "If I were a man," she said slowly, "then it would mean that you were a member of my household. As it is, I believe that you are now my ward, and, while I shall have to speak to my uncle the King, a ward of the royal family of Rohan." Seeing that Sarah still looked puzzled, Eowyn continued. "You shall live with us, and it would be as if you were member of the family, though not royalty."

"Okay," Sarah answered slowly, then looked down at Alric, lying on her lap. "And what about Alric?" she asked. "Haleth asked me to look after him; he has no family left, not after Haleth –" Her voice broke off.

"You are his guardian," Eowyn told her bluntly, "and he will most likely, in a few seasons, come to view you as his mother." Something of Sarah's panic at that thought must have shown on her face, as Eowyn's face softened into a smile. "I shall take care of you both, do not worry," she reassured the fourteen year old.

Sarah let out a small breath of relief, then yawned. The sun was already gone from the sky, and the millions of bright stars blazed overhead.

"Go to sleep," Eowyn told her. "Tomorrow we reach Edoras."


	35. The Beginning of a Quest

(Grace)

It was at the crack of dawn when Glorfindel tapped on Sarah's door. The night was very cool, though there was a warm a breeze wafting in from the south of the valley.

"Are you ready?" he breathed, in a whisper so soft that even with her elven ears Grace could barely catch it. She nodded. She had been awake, dressed, and reading for an hour at least. She held up one finger, signaling the elf-lord to wait a moment, and then slipped back to her bed where her pack was lying. In it were all of the things Glorfindel had told her to bring, with the addition of her Sindarin grammar and a small book of poetry.

Her bag now slung over her shoulder, they set off, stepping softly through the corridors. They were just passing the library near the front entrance when they heard a book snap shut. They froze, and Glorfindel gently drew Grace behind a pillar, going to stand behind a second pillar himself. Grace could feel her heart thumping in her chest and she was sure that with their hearing all the elves in Rivendell could tell where she was from a mile off. This was reinforced when Lord Glorfindel put his finger to his lips. She took deep breaths, and they sort of calmed the racing of her annoying organ, but not much. The person who had closed the book now poked his head out the door. It was a young elf, though to Grace he was older than the oldest person alive, and she had seen him in the library before. It was like he lived there, a nose buried in a book all day long. Erestor had addressed him as Erurainon once, she thought.

Erurainon looked around suspiciously, his eyes getting closer and closer to their hidding place. Grace held her breath. Then his eyes, like twin beams of a car, passed over her, onto Glorfindel, missed him, and returned to the library. She prevented herself from heaving a sigh of relief. Lord Glorfindel nodded at her approvingly before leading the way down the steps. There was no one about, though a soft light was beginning to fill the court yard and a few sleepy birds were starting to trill their morning song.

They slipped out the back gate, the noise of an opening door hot on their heels. Grace didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to the only place she'd ever known in this world. She was set out on a quest, and at the moment, though still drunk on adrenaline, she didn't like it one little bit.

There were horses waiting for them by a gnarled old tree about a quarter of a mile from Rivendell, along the same path that Sarah and the Fellowship had taken when departing.

"You can ride, can you not?" Glorfindel asked her.

"Yes," Grace nodded. "I can. My grandfather owns a ranch – a sort of farm – and I've been riding since I was very small."

"Excellent," Glorfindel said, "We shall be going at a canter and a walk for the most part. Now come! The day dawns, and you will be missed."

Grace furrowed her brow. "Won't you?" she asked.

Now Glorfindel smirked. "I begged a headache and asked that I might be allowed to rest. Since no one in the Ennorath, the lands of Middle-earth, with the exception of Mithrandir, knows anything about Reborn, I was permitted."

"Reborn?" Grace asked.

"Later," Glorfindel told her. "For now, we must be off." He lifted her up to her horse, and they set off, walking the animals slowly for the first quarter of a mile, and then when the path became clear and they found the banks of the river again, cantering. In this way they continued for at least an hour before slowing to a walk once more to give the horses a chance to rest briefly.

"So, Lord Glorfindel," Grace prompted. "Reborn?"

"Ah, yes," he replied. "Reborn is the term given by the Once-Born to those who return from the Halls of Mandos."

Grace's eyes bugged out of her head. "You came back from _Mandos_?" she asked incredulously. She had found a brief mention of such a thing in an old text that Erestor read to her once, but she had been under the impression that those released from Mandos stayed in Valinor.

Glorfindel's eyes turned inward briefly. "Yes, I returned from Mandos, and the Gardens of Lorien. But, well, once you hear some of my stories you will know what Reborn are like. I have matured quite a bit since then." He grinned, and Grace felt a shudder run through her. She did not wish to be on the receiving end of whatever that grin promised. But nevertheless, she had to ask.

"Oh, right! Stories! You told me that you would tell me about how you ran away."

"I did, did I not? I shall gladly do so, but not while we are cantering. Let us go once more." He to spoke to his horse in Quenya, and Asfaloth sprang forth once more. Grace buried her fingers in her horse's mane as Mereniel followed suit.

* * *

The sun was climbing towards mid-day, and with the approach of summer it began to be uncomfortably warm, especially on their right side. The shadows of the mountains had all but disappeared. They stopped as the sun began to sink again, not much after mid-day. Just enough that the horses, and their ridders, cast a stumpy little shadow on the right, barely able to be seen. Grace's stomach let out an embarrassing gurgle.

Lord Glorfindel pulled his horse up to a stop, Grace following suite. He swung off of Asfaloth with ease, offering a hand up to Grace.

"Thanks," she said, as she accepted it and slid off thankfully to the ground. As soon as Grace's feet touched the ground she felt relieved, though she was used to riding. It had been a long time since Grandpa's ranch in Montana, after all.

Glorfindel was already opening his pack and removing a few pieces of dried meat and two apples. He handed a piece of the fruit to Grace. She bit into it gratefully and flopped on the grass.

"I hate riding," she groaned, not really meaning it. Glorfindel grinned knowingly.

"Well, you had better get used to it," he told her.

"I know!" She groaned again. "That's what I'm dreading. How far to Lord Aragorn, do you suppose?"

"I believe it is an eight day's hard ride," Glorfindel said blissfully. Grace glared, and then suddenly, and rather randomly, remembered something she had seen Elladan and Elrohir giggling at and singing in Sindarin. They had refused her a translation.

"I was wondering," she began. "I still want to hear how you ran away, but I-" she paused. The _twins_ had been blushing when they had realized that she might have overheard them. It would probably not be the best idea to ask a great Elf Lord to translate. "You know what, never mind."

"Very well," Glorfindel said. "Shall I tell you of how I ran away while we walk?"

"Sure!" Grace grinned, pushing herself to her feet. Glorfindel handed her the strip of jerky, and she stuck in in her belt and continued carefully working her way around the apple's core.

"We shall walk our horses for the time being," Lord Glorfindel told her. Grace nodded, relieved, and came up to Mereniel's chin, taking her reins in her hand. Glorfindel also came up to Asfaloth's mouth, but he did not take hold of the harness, only started walking. The horse followed without even being told.

They walked in silence for a minute, as Glorfindel gathered his thoughts. Finally he spoke. "I shall have to give you a bit of background first," he said. "Have you heard of Glorfindel the Balrog-Slayer who died in the sack of Gondolin?"

Grace frowned in confusion and nodded. "Yes, "she replied. "Lindir sang about him before. Didn't he die to protect Tuor, Idril, and Eärendil?" As she said the word 'Eärendil' she automatically glanced up at the sky.

"Yes, I did," Glorfindel confirmed. Grace blinked and froze. She forced herself to keep walking, even while she gaped at Glorfindel, who was smirking slightly.

"Y-y-you?!" She stammered incredulously. "_You're_ LORD GLORFINDEL!? The Balrog-slayer? Did Lindir know?"

Now it was Glorfindel's turn to blink. "Of course he did, he replied. "He did not tell you?"

"No," Grace shook her head slowly. "No, he did not. He just grinned when I said I wished Glorfindel hadn't died."

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. "Twins," he muttered, though Grace heard him as clear as day. She giggled. The twins had rubbed off on Lindir, it seemed.

She carefully finished her apple and handed the core up to Mereniel who quickly wrapped her lips around it and crunched, demolishing the core with ease.

"So yes," Grace broke the silence, "I know part of your story, at least what's in the song Lindir sang."

"Of course, you want to hear the rest of the story, do you not?" Glorfindel continued without waiting for a replied to the clearly rhetorical question. "To continue on with the background, I was, as you know, a Lord of Gondolin, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, and bound to serve King Turgon and his kin. Sworn to serve, rather. Turgon was still in the houses of Mandos, sleeping, never to wake for ages upon ages, and for a while, as I was young and still newly released, I did not remember my oath. My gwador – do you know what 'gwador' means? Good – my gwador had already collected several of his sworn liegemen when I remembered, begging for the release of Turgon. It did not happen. Then I discovered the bright star in the sky, Eärendil. It had been hidden from me, and those around me did not know it. My Gwador mentioned it one evening, and told me its story, and was shocked when he heard that I did not see it.

"I did not believe that I would be able to fulfil my oath and renewed oath until my King was reborn, and even then it would take a long time before he remembered. When I heard that his grandson, the Lord Eärendil, was in Aewellondë in the east, and that I could go dwell with him, my heart burned to see him once more. I ran away. Of course, I was much older than you are, and was much more experienced from all my centuries on Endor, so I survived more than a day in the wild. I went along to the coast, then went by ship from Alqualondë along south. The one who allowed me to travel with him dropped me off many miles down the shore so that he could go back in time before winter, and I continued on my way. There were many mishaps, and I almost died once or twice. When I was nearing Eärendil's tower I met what I thought was an ellon, tall, with a pet hound. He helped me to defeat a few of the… wolves… that I found along my way. He trained me, and he even called me sword brother. I discovered later that he was one of the Maiar, a Maia."

Grace was fascinated with the tale. She did not know all the places that Lord Glorfindel was naming, or all the words that he was using, but it was fascinating stuff. She didn't know much about Eärendil, save for the Lay composed by her friend Bilbo, and it was interesting to hear what had happened to him after he was turned into a star. Still, she interrupted him, asking what the last word he used meant.

"What's a Maiar?" she asked.

"A Maia," Lord Glorfindel explained, "Is a servant and helper of one or more of the Valar. I count some of them among my friends."

"The Valar?" Grace asked. She had heard snippets of tales of them, and knew a little, but no one had given her a straight answer. She had once overheard Lady Arwen scolding 'Ro for saying 'Oh Valar', so she kind of had the idea that they were some sort of gods, but that was it."

"The Valar are Ainur," Glorfindel explained patiently. "They watch over, shape, guard, and protect Middle-Earth. Surely Erestor has been teaching you history?"

"Yeah, he has," Grace replied. "But it's mainly been Túrin's life, at the moment at least. It's really interesting, though. Wait –" A sudden thought occurred to her. "You met Húrin and Huor!"

Glorfindel smiled. "I did. They were impressive young Edain. All of Gondolin missed them when they departed."

"Cool!" Grace exclaimed, missing Glorfindel's puzzled look. "That is _really_ cool. From what I've been reading, Húrin was one, or maybe _the_ strongest man in all of history. He stood up to Morgoth._Morgoth_!"

"He was quite strong," Glorfindel affirmed, a wistful smile on his face. "His strength lived on in his nephew and his descendants, of whom Lord Elrond is one.

"_Really_?!" Grace exclaimed. "Why don't Lindir and Erestor ever tell me these things?!"

"Probably because they are so used to that it does not occur to them that someone else may not know," Glorfindel replied.

Grace shrugged. "I guess that makes sense," she said.

They fell silent for a bit, before Glorfindel raised his hand to halt them. The sun was now much more distinctly to the west, and they cast much longer shadows than before.

Grace remembered that Glorfindel hadn't quite finished his story yet. "So what happened when you finally found Lord Eärendil?" she asked as they slowed to a halt.

"I cried," he replied matter-of-factly. Grace blinked, and fell silent. Glorfindel looked over at her. "Do not feel embarrassed," he said. "If you had been in my situation you would have done the same."

Grace nodded, and bit her lip. After a brief pause to return to their horse's backs, they continued on in silence, the afternoon drawing on toward evening.

* * *

The stars were already peeping out over head and Grace was nodding off over Mereniel's mane when Glorfindel called a halt. He helped her off of her horse, and then looked at her critically.

"I shall watch through the night," he told her, his voice leaving no room for argument. Grace, completely missing this, protested.

"No! I can do at least one!" Her attempt was useless – Glorfindel was already shaking his head.

"You are trembling, you are so tired," he told her. "You were nodding off a moment ago, and you are still a child, even though you are older mentally than your age would suggest."

"Hey!" Grace protested. "I'm a teenager already!"

Glorfindel looked at her with some concern. He took her by the sides of her arms. "Has no one told you this already?" He asked. "Has no one explained this to you already?" He asked.

Grace narrowed her eyes. "Explained what," she challenged.

Glorfindel closed his eyes and mouthed something that Grace couldn't quite catch. "I see no one has," he said, more to himself than anything else. He looked at her again. "I shall tell you all in the morning. For now, you must eat and drink something, and then sleep. Your body needs it, much more than mine does. I slept well last night, in preparation for this journey, and I can go much longer without rest. Get some sleep."

Grace looked at his eyes, and saw a depth there, a sadness, and great age. She lay down without protesting.

Glorfindel began to sing softly, a song about a lost maiden and her lover, and the world, the night, and all of Grace's troubles vanished into soft oblivion.


End file.
